


Play to Kill

by Aristeia



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Noir, Crime Fighting, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, Detective Noir, F/M, Modern Era, Modern Girl in Thedas, Modern Thedas, Murder Mystery, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-28 14:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 55,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5094062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aristeia/pseuds/Aristeia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MODERN/NOIR AU Reporter Lavellan and Police Deputy Iron Bull solve a murder mystery together. Eventual Bullxf!Lavellan smut? (Inspired by aicosu's Messenge Sent fanfic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The blood oozed out onto the red velvet carpet to form tiny little puddles that seeped into the soft fabric, spreading like wildfire.

Florian knew he was dying.

But he still had to.protect himself.

_Maybe, just maybe…_

Maybe he could make it.

He closed to door and locked it.

And then...

His last breath left him.

He dropped to the carpet with a heavy thud, the last remnants of his pained grimace still etched on his face.

* * *

Ms. Mantillon knew she was running late.

Melissandre had been exceedingly annoying today, which may’ve explained why Ms. Mantillon felt the need to rub Florian’s will in her face. She’d have to tell Florian, of course. But he’d probably be ecstatic that Melissandre was fuming.

 _That woman cares for nothing but money anyway,_ Mantillon shook her head sadly. _But this way, Celene will be the sole successor of the family fortune and business. Clarisse and I will be the primary caretakers for the girl._

She felt something soft squish underneath her foot as she stopped in front of Florian’s door.

When she lifted her foot, she found a silver barrette decorated with lilies.

 _Lilies. Briala. She must’ve dropped it._ She thought.

Frowning irritably, she gently nudged the petals to the side and proceeded to knock on Florian’s door.

“Sir?” She spoke into the door. “It’s me. I’m here to help with the conference material. Can I come in?”

There was no answer.

Mantillon tried knocking again.

“Sir? Are you sleeping?”

No answer again.

Sighing irritably, she proceeded to pull out her own keycard and slid it into the slot near the door handle. In her haste and annoyance, she failed to notice the small splatter of red decorating the gold doorway on the floor.

The door’s mechanism clicked, the green light flashing, and she swiftly opened the door, ready to chastise Florian.

**_Blood._ **

Ms. Mantillon immediately froze in her steps.

Someone started screaming.

She dropped her purse and folder unconsciously. Her legs turned to jelly and she found herself plummeting to her knees. A peculiar smell pervaded the air as she collapsed. Her stomach churned and bubbled.

Seconds later, she realized she was the one screaming.

* * *

By the time Nymeria and the others arrived on the scene, it was already too late.

Still, she immediately called the Skyhold Police Department.

No one was allowed inside the scene of the crime, she told the shocked Valmont family.

Briala was doing her best to comfort a distraught and weeping Celene, who tried to enter the room to see her uncle desperately. Briala and Clarisse had to hold her back from entering the room. Clarisse’s face was ash white and her hands were shaking. She could barely take her eyes away from her dead brother-in-law.

Nymeria tried to ask Ms. Mantillon on specifics of the circumstances in which she found Florian, but the Valmont personal assistant woulld barely say a word. Her face was scrunched as if she suspected Nymeria herself of killing Florian. So if Ms. Mantillon was distressed, she certainly hid it well.

In fact, no one said a word.

No one knew what to say. They were all too shocked.

Judging by the dried blood around Florian, it had been too late to save him now.

It was probably even too late when Ms. Mantillon arrived to see him.

No one knew when it had happened.

No one saw anyone.

But there was one thing they knew for certain:

Florian Valmont was dead.

And he had been murdered.


	2. Wheels in Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nymeria receives an errand from her roommate, setting the wheels in motion.  
> Sera and Dorian also make a cameo appearance as the rebel university student/hacker and the psychiatrist/counselor, respectively.

Sunlight bathed her room every morning and as the warmth of the rays increased so did her consciousness, albeit irritatingly so. 

Alas, Nymeria pulled back her sheets and stretched her arms high and wide above her head. She heard her bones crack. Sliding herself to the side of the bed, her toes slowly sunk into her soft, fluffy slippers.

She sat there in a daze for a few seconds, allowing her eyes to adjust to the morning light. She could've pulled her curtains closed last night, but she always preferred a view of the stars outside rather than complete darkness - not that the city offered much of a view. There was too much light pollution in Skyhold City and most the tiny dotted lights were from skyscrapers and helicopters, not stars. But the full moon was always a nice sight before bed. It reminded her of her childhood.

Groaning, she stood up and lazily dragged her feet to the kitchen for some coffee.

The coffeemaker in her kitchen bubbled and beeped as she turned it on. The water started boiling after a few seconds.

Now that Nymeria was away from her clan, Keeper Deshanna couldn't hound her about the benefits of tea over coffee. Nymeria could have as much caffeinated lattes and cappuccinos as she desired without feeling guilty about it. Her favorite flavor was an Antivan blend of hazelnut with blood lotus extract.

A light noise in the living room made her elven ears perk up. 

Looking through the opening in her small kitchen, she found her roommate slumped over on the couch, blanket slipping halfway on the carpet. There were a few orange prescription capsules on the table next to their couch.

_Oh dear..._

Nymeria readjusted her cardigan over her shoulder before tiptoeing quietly towards Merrill. She poked gently at her roommate's shoulder, hoping to tell her to go sleep in a more comfortable place - like the large, canopied bed in Merrill's own room.

"Merrill," she whispered, her mouth dry from having just woken herself. " _Ryn thena, arani_ \- why not sleep in your bed? You'll pull a muscle sleeping out here..."

Merrill murmured something unintelligible in her sleep but nonetheless remained motionless.

Nymeria sighed, pulling back.  _Well, whatever._

The coffee had started brewing. Suddenly, Nymeria caught a waft of her own morning breath. Irritated and disgusted, she treaded out of the kitchen. A nice, clean wash was in order so she ventured back into her own bedroom, closed the door, and proceeded to prepare herself for a shower.

_Ah, hot water..._

She was in paradise. The past few apartments she had sublet were ... well, shitholes.

Most of them had no hot water, and no visible landlord and landlady. In fact, Nymeria was quite sure that they had duped her into paying far too much than the rooms were actually worth. But beggars couldn't be choosers. So she had to bite the bullet and spend her savings on shitty apartments. It wasn't until she met Varric at  _The Daily Herald Tribune_ that she finally struck gold in terms of housing.

Varric had introduced her to Merrill, a fellow Dalish elf who spent her days working at the Skyhold Museum on Ancient History and taking care of her pet mabari. But the income from her 'assistant historian' job alone wasn't enough to cover rent, so Varric introduced Nymeria to Merrill. The reasonable rent was a real deal breaker for Nymeria's dwindling bank balance.

This apartment was in the nicer area of Skyhold City, courtesy of Merrill and Varric's mutual acquaintance - the Mayor of Kirkwall in the Free Marches, Olivier Hawke. It was amazing how they both knew such a famous celebrity. Nymeria had heard stories and read about the Kirkwall hero in newspaper tabloids and internet media but never met her.

 _Thank the Creators,_ Nymeria thought. _No more one-hour commutes to the office._

The water bounced off her skin, sending up rainbows in the mist. She squeezed out a dollop of scented shampoo and began massaging it into her thick, reddish curls. 

After this, she was going to head over to the office to see if she could get more information on that report Varric wanted her to help out with. It was Saturday morning and she'd be working overtime but the extra cash was too tempting to pass up. Besides, she had barely made rent last month. She wasn't about to ask Varric to spot her some cash,  _again_. He had done too much to help her out as it was.

She was supposed to be drafting a very important case study regarding the Redcliffe Pharmaceutical Company - a big conglomerate company that specialized in medicinal herbs and medical equipment, particularly to certain military sects. Their involvement with the Dalish Reformation had been an ongoing source of public media debate. Nymeria hoped to uncover details about their operations for her story in the papers.

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself, making her way to the mirror to brush her teeth and blow-dry her hair.

_Yes, today was going to be a good day._

* * *

The clock was ticking.

Slowly. 

Too slowly, in fact.

It was frigging 7am on the morning and here she was - the idiot who got caught pirating on her laptop at the University library.

She swung her legs back and forth like a child in her chair.

She _hated_  feeling like a child.

These people could never understand her. They would never understand what it was she did, or why she did it.

Dr. Pavus, Dean of Skyhold University Library, sat opposite of her at his desk. His clipboard was annoying, so she asked him to put it aside. She didn't need him writing all this useless crap about her anyway. All she needed was his warning note, and then she'd be off doing whatever she pleased again.

He set down his pen next to the clipboard, crossed his legs, readjusting his white suit jacket, and stared at her intently.

"So - contrary to what you've told others, you _are_ in fact a student here. You're a third-year student, I believe. Undeclared major though, which is surprising, given your skill on the computer."

"Yeah, so? What's it to you?" She grumbled.

He leaned forward on his desk, his emerald dress-shirt wrinkling at the edge of the desk. His hands were clasped together and he looked at her as if he was trying to make out something specific about her person.

She immediately hated this meeting - or interrogation - whatever it was. It made her uncomfortable. Was this even allowed on campus?

"Where do you get all your aliases, Sera? You have hundreds in our system."

"From your arse, that's where." She fired back.

He smirked, leaning back in his chair again. "My arse should open up a shop. It's apparently quite prolific."

_Oh, for the love of..._

"Anyway, I'm supposed to give you a indefinite suspension for your ... transgressions." He cleared his throat. "But after careful consideration, I think you've got talent and promise. If it only took you ten minutes to upload your video to all our servers this morning, then consider me impressed."

"Um, what?" She blinked repeatedly.

"Yes, I think you have talent. Squandered on pointless pranks, to be honest. But there's skill there. I'm sure you can go many places after graduation if you applied yourself."

"Um, but..." She scratched her head. "Um - you _are_ the Dean of Libraries here, aren't you? Aren'y you supposed to - I dunno - suspend me? Expel me from the school or something?

"You'd do well to continue your studies in our information technologies program, don't you think?" He continued.

Sera scowled.

She was late for her chatroom meeting. Damn, stupid school and their dumb rules... and this now this stupid idiot was trying to do who-knows-what with his stupid, ridiculously obvious, introspective rubbish.

Dorian Pavus. Ugh, this annoying "Dean" with the ugly leather shoes that probably costed him a fortune. He looked like a rich prat who used too much product in his hair and spent the mornings looking at himself in the mirror.

Seriously, she didn't even know  _what_ he did for a living other than sit in this large office at the University Library, asking her all these stupid questions. The idea that he had Sera's university life literally in his hands was irritating and was making her feel angrier by the second.

And here he was, trying to play 'pretend' - pretending he knew what she wanted, what she ought to do, what her future plans should be.

He didn't know her. He had no idea.

No matter. When she got home. She could always hack him... it would be so easy. The idea made her fingers tingle delightfully.

"I'm going to write a note to go along with this incident report," Dorian cut into her thoughts. "I'm just giving you a warning this time, alright? I'd like to see you apply yourself to more-"

"So you're fat with it, right?" She blurted out, grinning.

He blinked, momentarily stumped.

"Me? Are you referring to...?"

"I'm referring to if you sleep on silk while gold shits down all over you?" She made obscene hand gestures at him before clarifying: "Are you _rich_?"

The expression of momentary surprise left him and he chuckled.

"Why do you ask? Do you plan to hack and rob me?" He asked.

"Dunno yet." She wrinkled her nose. "Depends."

"Threatening a member of the education board of your university is a crime, you know." He replied.

"So? I never said I was going to do it." She rolled her eyes. "But I knew you were rich the moment I saw you. Just wanted to know if I was right and you were loaded. Is that how you go this job? You daddy gave it to you?"

Dorian laughed loudly, which was _not_ the reaction she was expecting.

"My father? Now, _that's_ rich." Dorian wiped away the tears that had formed near the edges of his eyes. "So you know I'm rich - just like all your other targets. It's the shoes that gave me away, wasn't it?"

"You're also wearing a gold Orlesian ring." She pointed.

"Actually, the design is Tevinter. But sadly, I left all that behind. Although I do miss the 'gold-shitting' from time to time." He smirked. "Anyways, this isn't about me. It's about you. Did you post your video because you believed most of your colleagues are rich, spoiled teenagers? Am I correct in assuming that, Sera?"

She ignored his question and instead sat back down in her chair, arms crossed.

"You really left it, huh? Then perhaps you aren't all bad."

She made a face at him, wrinkling her nose again. 

"Well, I'm glad we established that I'm not a rich, spoiled monster like you think all your university colleagues are." He asked. "Anyway, I'm letting you off with just a -"

"Are the people back in Tevinter just like you, Dorian?" She cut him off, grinning.

"I would prefer Dr. Pavus, thank you." He told her, clearing his throat. "And what, might I ask, do you mean by that exactly?"

 **"** You know," She rolled her eyes. "I don't mean annoying. I meant are they all - you know - into imprisoning their own kind of whatever? Not letting them leave the country? Oppressive?"

"Not all of them, no."

"Well, you don't seem like the sort."

Dorian's shot her a look of concern. "Right." He cleared his throat again, going back to his clipboard."Let's stay on course, shall we? I just have a few follow-up questions for you."

He reached for his coffee mug, pen in hand, but the ceramic mug actually tipped over and spilled the contents over the edge of his office table.

He cursed, reaching for the paper towels behind him to clean up the spill.

"Those words you just said, what do they mean?" She asked inquisitively.

"Um... uh..."

"I just want to know." She asked. "I won't tell anyone you told me. It's not like they'd believe me anyway. I'm a known prankster, remember?" She laughed.

He sighed, throwing the dripping paper towels in the trash beside him.

"Vishante kaffas. It's Tevene, relics of the old tongue. We still use the colorful phrases."

"And it means what?"

He laughed. "Literally? 'You shit on my tongue.'"

She giggled with him. "Why not just say that next time?"

"Why, indeed." He smirked. 

"Say, can I get a coffee too?" She asked suddenly. 

He rose a brow in apprehension.

"Come on, doc." She stood from her chair. "You've got a pot over there. And it's ten in the bloody morning! I'm not awake yet! How am I supposed to answer all these dumb questions when my mind isn't even all there yet?"

Dorian sighed audibly.

"Fine." He replied, defeated.

Sera smirked. 

At least this wasn't altogether boring. 

Besides, she was missing her boring History class because of this. 

At least now she didn't have to listen to _**boring**_ Professor Lang and his _**boring**_ lectures on elvhen pride and history and _blah blah blah who gives a fuck..._

* * *

"Mythal's flaming ass!" Nymeria yelped, jerking her hand back.

She had placed her hand on top of Merrill's forehead to check her temperature.

 _Creators! She was burning up!_  

Merrill shot her a look of reprimand - a rare expression since Merrill was usually so nice and sweet.

" _Ir abelas_ ," She murmured hastily. " _How_ did this even happen?"

Nymeria had come out of the shower only to see Merrill groaning and shuddering in her sleep.

When she came over to wake up in roommate, she noticed Merrill's white, ashen skin, cold beads of sweat dripping down the sides of her face. The naive Dalish elf looked as though she were in agony on the couch.

Once awake, Merrill looked at felt absolutely dreadful. Her lips had turned pale, as if all the color had been sucked from her being, and she looked as though she was about to bend over the side of their couch and throw up on their hand-knit living room rug.

 

Nymeria rolled up her sleeves. 

"Here," Nymeria helped Merrill sit up on the couch and then proceeded to sit beside her. "Let me see, _lethallan_."

She set her hands on Merrill's checks, turning her head side to side.

"It's probably nothing," Merrill insisted. "I know you like playing 'doctor', but I'm - "

"I don't think 'playing doctor' has quite the connotation you think it does, Merrill." Nymeria smiled weakly. "Also, I'm not 'playing'. I know my biology and pre-med basics."

Merrill shifted slightly, shuddering suddenly. "I'm cold. Are you cold? It's awfully chilly in here. Did we leave the AC on again?"

"Nope," Nymeria frowned. "Here. Open your eyes as wide as you can for me, okay?"

Merrill did as she was told.

"Your pupils are dilated." Nymeria frowned. She then proceeded to roll up Merrill's sleeves and check her pulse.

"My pupils? Is that bad?" Merrill asked, worried. "Why are you checking my pulse? I'm fine, really. Just a bit cold. And my head hurts. And my throat's all scratchy... But everything is fine. I must just look terrible because I slept here instead of my bed."

"You have a fever and your pupils are dilated." Nymeria confirmed. "Your pulse is steady though, so that's a good sign that you're not dying." She jested.

"So that's good." Merrill sniffed, clearly a bit congested. "It means I'll be fine, right?"

Sighing in relief, Nymeria got up from the carpet and started to fumble through their kitchen cabinets. 

"It means," Nymeria popped open a orange prescription capsule from their medicine cabinet. "You have a flu coming on."

_"What?"_

"Wait. Is this your first time with a common flu?" Nymeria looked at Merrill, slightly amused.

"No, no, no. Are you sure?"

Nymeria shot Merrill a slightly agitated look. 

"I may be a pre-med drop-out. But I still have my associate's degree, Merrill. Besides, this is elementary; trust me, I know what I'm talking about."

Merrill started babbling: "But this - this is so - This is just so unlucky!I mean, I know you probably know what you're talking about, but... today we've got a conference with the Valmont Trading Company about their latest works. The Museum could use their research and new pieces for our upcoming exhibition..."

Merrill stood form the couch and wobbled, blinking and trying to readjust her stance. Clearly, she was having trouble balancing herself and her headache was not subsiding.

She sat back down on the couch and took the Bitter Elfroot Extract tea Nymeria made for her, sipping it slowly.

"Well, short of miraculously getting some Felandaris within the next hour, I suggest you stay in bed with a trash bin next to you." Nymeria frowned, hands on her hips. She didn't want to boss Merrill around or be assertive about this, but the girl looked _absolutely deathly._

Merrill blinked. "But there's _no way_ we can find any within an hour, can we? The line at the pharmacy down the street takes forever! And they're not well-stocked. I don't even know if they _have_ Felandaris."

"Considering they're probably not a legal operation, I doubt they'd have  _that_ sort of high-end drug." Nymeria agreed, frowning as Merrill pulled on her cardigan. "But if you really need to go to the conference, you can always ask a doctor for a prescription. It'll definitely help with your monthly cramps too, you know. Here, I can call a doctor and schedule and appointment."

"What? No!" Merrill dived towards her, swatting Nymeria's arms away from their cordless phone. "Please, lethallan!"

"What? Why not?" Nymeria asked, confused. "Felandaris isn't hard to obtain if you ask a professional."

"My insurance isn't that great and - well - and who knows what charges they'll try to talk me into paying. I mean - there's just so much paperwork and Varric will get upset if he finds out I've paid double the actual cost again."

"What are you talking about?" Nymeria rummaged through her purse to find her phone for her doctors' contact info.

Merrill looked at her pleadingly. 

"Ir abelas. I just... I can't go. Please. If you can, please give me something that can ease it."

"This is ridiculous! The hospital has plenty of people who can help you! Why don't you want to go?"

"It's just..." Merrill sighed, confessing with a forlorn expression. "I've never had good experiences with hospitals. I'm sure I don't have your wit or your charm. Besides, they'll only help me if there isn't anyone else to help. We're elves, lethallan - they won't treat me in haste. I thought for a long time that it might change, but... But things will always be the same. I'm just... I'm just low priority."

Nymeria knelt down beside Merrill, placing a hand on her knee. "Merrill, I know you're scared. But the place I can recommend to you is great. I've been there loads of times and the doctors are professional - they will not treat you poorly because you're elven. I promise."

"I'll go, but not today." Merrill shook her head sternly. "Besides, I've endured worse. Being at the hospital is too risky."

Nymeria almost laughed. "Risky? You're not a fugitive, Merrill!"

"I know, I know. But I just - I don't have the time. I have to be in the city by 8am. Oh, it's already 7am!"

"Merrill, please." Nymeria's voice remained strong and serious as she watched Merrill try to gather her things for work. "You need to trust me. You can't go out today. Forgive me, but you look terrible."

"No, my manager will be disappointed if I told him I wouldn't be able to make it, and this is really important for us!"

"I'm sure he'll understand if you explain it to him, Merrill."

"No, I need to go! The Valmonts won't be able to reschedule! They're busy enough as it is with the excavation from Antivan last month. If we don't get to them first then who knows what other Museum will buy off their goods. Orlais' Museum of Antiquities  _always_ gets there first!"

"Merrill." Nymeria repeated, her frown becoming more severe. "Seriously. Merrill. _Venavis_. _Arulin'sil._ "

Merrill stopped and stared back at Nymeria.

Then she sighed, defeated.

"Okay. Fine. Fine, fine, fine. I'll stay here." She told Nymeria, sitting back down on the couch. "But, erm - only if you do me a huge, huge favor. _Sathan, lethallan._ "

"A favor?" Nymeria rose a brow. 

"Will you, um, just - will you go to the conference for me? In my place? Please?" Merrill pleaded. 

"What?" Nymeria blinked. "Merrill, I can't - I don't even know what I'm supposed to do or say! I have no idea - "

"The plans for our newest exhibition is on my desk! Oh! And there's a flash drive with a presentation on there too! I know it's asking a lot but just take it and pretend to work for the Skyhold Historical Society!"

"What? I'm not doing that!"

"Please? I'm not asking for much, am I? I'd do the same for you, lethallan! Please!"

"But I don't even know a thing about your job!"

"Yes you do, lethallan! I know you do! You write about these things all the time with Varric! You think I don't read it all but I do!"

"I only write about your main exhibitions! And they're really just fluffy pieces, mind you." Nymeria protested. "No offense."

"Oh, please? Pretty please?"

Nymeria, still frowning, finally sighed after a few seconds of contemplation. She looked at Merrill hopelessly.

"Fine, fine." She nodded, caving in to the request. "I'll do it!"

" _Ma serannas, lethallan!_ " Merrill smiled weakly, pulling the blankets over herself on the couch. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"How I get suckered into doing these things for you is beyond me. I think you've been hanging out with Varric too much." Nymeria joked. "You're lucky you have those large elf eyes that look like puppy eyes."

"What? What are you talking about? You have them too!" Merrill protested.

Nymeria rolled her eyes, heading to Merrill's desk to grab the presentation and papers. She looked over them briefly. The materials wasn't particularly dense. At least the train ride to the city would give her plenty of time to read through the presentation and prepare herself.

So Nymeria promptly tied up her hair in a neat ponytail, dressed as she did when she went to work herself, and heading out the door with Merrill's presentation in hand on a Saturday morning. 

The time was 7:15am when she walked out the door.

 _Worst case scenario, I'll make a complete fool of myself,_ she thought.

Unfortunately, making a fool of herself was in fact the  _best_ case scenario.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thena, arani - you must wake, my friend.  
> Ir Abelas - I am sorry  
> ma serannas - my thanks  
> lethallan - friend/clan mate  
> Venavis - stop  
> arulin'sil - seriously


	3. The Herald's Rest Plaza Hotel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nymeria agrees to substitute for her roommate Merrill at a special Antiques Collectors conference and meets some interesting people there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed this chapter so many times before posting it. I literally had to rethink which family to include that suited the story best. The general plot is pretty much outlined though. So I'm happy about this.
> 
> On the other hand, the Valmont family outside of Celene and Gaspard are not names usually heard within the DAI game so a fear a lot of readers will be turned off by this fact, so this will be the chapter to determine whether I continue this or not.

It took thirty minutes for Nymeria to arrive at the conference location.

The traffic was terrifying, but luckily it gave her plenty of time to look over the notes Merrill wrote (or lack thereof, really.) She glossed over facts and history from the Hinterlands Trading Company, silently cursing at herself for agreeing to this ridiculous proposition to begin with.

 

**—Varric 7:37 am**

_I had another lineup for you but the Valmonts are way too good to pass up._

_Write up a good piece for this and I’ll speak to Bartrand on getting us that promo._

 

And then a minute later:

 

**—Varric 7:37 am**

_You’re sure lucky, kid._

 

She rolled her eyes at the words on the screen. Somehow, she didn't feel so lucky. Especially after glossing over five pages of 'The Valmont of Orlais, A History". After ten minutes, she was pretty much bored out of her skull.

The people involved seemed like arrogant narcissists, so she wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about meeting them. Good thing Varric was useful for these types of ordeals. He had given her valuable information on the company. She was currently in the process of speed-reading through the notes.

_The Valmont family, huh?_

They were the specialty antiques company Merrill was supposed to be impressing. Nymeria would be persuading them to donate their precious ceramic pieces for an upcoming exhibition. There were papers and forms to be filled, artwork leases and display regulations, as well as graphics guidelines for the exhibition signage.

Luckily, the rest of the conference material wasn't so dense. With luck, all she'd have to do is read off parts of the powerpoint, answer some questions, and be done with it all in time for afternoon tea.

She glanced at the address Merrill had forwarded her:

_Herald's Rest Plaza Hotel_

_100 Grand Plaza Avenue_

_Skyhold City, xxxxx_

 

 _Of course_ it was in the heart of the damned city. If traffic wasn't so terrifying in the morning, Nymeria would've gotten there in fifteen minutes in the cab.

 **_This_ ** _is why I would rather not work weekends. On a Saturday, no less! Skyhold Central Square is a hot spot for tourists!_

She swiped her credit card on the pinpad adhered to the back of the passenger seat, thanked the driver, and hopped out of the yellow taxi hastily.

_Holy shit._

The hotel before her was luxurious. She had been too busy craning her neck in the backseat of the car, trying to memorize key facts for her presentation and making sure she hadn't lost Merrill's USB drive to notice the tall, glittering building standing before her.

Herald's Rest Plaza was a spiring golden building that looked more like a art sculpture than a actual building. The skyscraper was so tall that it hurt her neck to try spotting the pointed top. The entire building was decorated with golden panes and tinted glass windows the shade of seafoam teal. The gold panes were so clean Nymeria could see flawless reflections of the clear sky on them.

Nymeria could only presume what it was like inside. Squinting at the windows above, she noted the rich red curtains and marble balconies protruding from the luxury suites.

The _Herald’s Rest Plaza Hotel_ plaque gleamed under the sun at the entrance. The glossy letters were chiseled into a elegant script filled with smooth curves in a lovely shade of obsidian.

There was a monumental fountain right before the entryway. A resplendent marble statue of Andraste carrying a water jug stood in the middle of the large pool, a stream of clean water flowing steadily from the jar. There were several coins tossed into the fountain, and Nymeria felt tempted to follow suit - except she seldom carried currency in the form of bills, let alone coins.

Red carpet lined the walkway to the fancy revolving doors. The glass was expectedly spotless and the window panels were framed in a sleek gold to match the exterior. Burgundy ropes lined the outside of the entrance, and just walking through it made Nymeria feel like she was on the set of a movie.

 _It's like I'm in a different world,_ she told herself, in awe. _There's no way I won't stick out like a sore thumb here. But I suppose compared to Merrill..._

The valet greeted her politely with a bow, and she awkwardly responded with a head tilt his direction. She had no way of knowing how to act in this setting. She was probably drastically underdressed. (But likely more well-dressed that Merrill would’ve been.)

“Good morning, miss.” The security guard tipped his head. He wore a three-piece suit and a bluetooth device on his right ear. A walkie-talkie was strapped at his belt, along with what looked like a tazer of some sort.

“How can we help you today?” He asked.

“Um, I’m, ah - I’m actually here for a conference concerning the Valmont Trading Company.” She told him politely.

“Great,” He pointed towards the receptionist desk. “You’ll want to talk to our receptionist. She’ll have to check you in and direct you to which floor you’ll need to go to.”

“Thanks,”

Nymeria felt nervous, like she should’ve worn a pencil skirt and white blouse instead of her plaid, flannel button-up and wine corduroy pants. Perhaps if she let loose her hair it would make her look more professional? No, that certainly didn’t make any sense.

“Excuse me,” She greeted nervously.

“Hello!” The woman behind the counter chirped pleasantly. “How may I help you today?”

“I’m here for a conference with the Valmont Trading Company.” She explained.

“Ah, I see.” The woman shuffled a few papers around and grabbed a clipboard underneath her table. She reached for a ballpoint pen in the penholder on her desk. “What’s your name?”

“Um, I’m a substitute for one of the participants. So I might not be on the list…”

“Name?” The receptionist repeated, unblinking.

“It’s Nymeria. Nymeria Lavellan. I’m here for-”

“I’ve got it.” The receptionist nodded hastily. “We received the e-mail from your colleague twenty minutes ago. I’ll just need you to sign here, and here. Oh, and I'll need to see an I.D. too.”

Nymeria pulled out her plastic I.D. card from the pocket of her phone case and handed it to her. It took less than five seconds for the receptionist to ready the papers, glance at the name on the I.D,, and then promptly hand the card back.

She marked the blank spaces on the forms clipped to the clipboard for Nymeria to sign. Nymeria hastily scribbled her name on the sheets, printing her name where necessary, and then returned the clipboard.

“Great,” The receptionist looked over the papers for a split second before handing Nymeria a plastic keycard and a plastic badge that read ‘HTC Conference Room 512’.

“The conference will be on the fifty-second floor. Here’s your keycard to the conference room and access to the elevators. Also, please make sure to wear your badge at all times to avoid confusion. I’m sure you’re aware security will be particularly tight today, considering your clientele’s reputation.”

“Yes. Thank you,” Nymeria nodded, inhaling deeply.

“And also,” The receptionist looked up from the computer one last time. “The schedule has been changed slightly. The conference won’t start until 9:00am on account of the Valmont’s delayed flight last night, so you’re a bit early. Feel free to have some of our complimentary coffee though. We also have a bistro on the twentieth and fortieth floors.” She pointed.

“Oh, I’m alright. Thank you though.” Nymeria nodded, grabbing the keycard from the counter and clipping the badge to her shirt.

“Have a good day, miss.”

With that, Nymeria walked towards the gold elevator doors.

She thought her brown leather boots might’ve been inappropriate for this conference, but just glancing at some of the visitors around her made her feel loads better.

 _If clogs are allowed in the building, I think you’re good._ She told herself, smiling as she peeked at the woman nearby also waiting for the elevator.

The smell of fresh-brewed Antivan coffee permeated the air the moment the loud ‘ _ding’_ resonated in the lobby and the golden elevator doors slid open.

Nymeria gawked at the interior of the elevator for a split second; The compartment itself was almost as big as Nymeria and Merrill’s entire apartment, and it was decorated lavishly with gold, gilded Fereldan fronds and curved relief carvings. But _of course_ no one in the elevator was remotely interested in the exquisite design.

 _They could probably fit a hundred people in here!_ Nymeria thought as she stepped in. _And yet somehow Merrill’s employer can’t afford to give her decent medical insurance? What a load of shit._

She frowned bitterly, getting heated at the idea of her roommate having to deal with such bigotry.

The clog-wearing elderly lady and what looked to be a happy couple got into the elevator with her. The elderly lady pressed ‘six’ on the touchscreen in the elevator, a low chime played at the touch of her fingertips. Nymeria reached over to press ‘fifty two’, but the couple beat her to it.

The metal doors hummed closed and Nymeria was left with the other three strangers in the incredibly spacious elevator.

When she reached the 52nd floor, Nymeria stepped out to be greeted with the same red velvet carpet as she saw outside. The chandelier above her were reflected on the clean, white marble tiles. The walls were painted in a lovely cream shade and the large, wide windows offered an incredible sight of the entire Skyhold City.

_Click. Click. Click._

The sound of high heels echoed the halls as the couple behind her followed her out of the elevator.

“Um, excuse me?”

There was a light tap on her shoulder.

It was the couple from the elevator.

The taller of the two women had spoken. She wore strappy black heels and a rich, blue gown.

 _Probably Orlesian,_ Nymeria thought. _Probably worth a fortune, too._

The silver-blond woman was accompanied by her elven companion, who donned a rich, satin green coat. The couple seemed no younger than Nymeria. The blond had a rather angular face and fair skin; her elven accomplice had long auburn brown hair and sparkling eyes. They were a rather adorable couple.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but this floor is reserved for a special event this afternoon. Are you here for business with the Valmont family?” The tall one spoke in a Orlesian accent and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear.

“Yes, with the Valmonts, I believe.” Nymeria nodded.

“On behalf of what business, may I ask?”

“The Skyhold Historical Society.”

“Ah! And here I was afraid you had gotten off on the wrong floor.”

“Oh?” Nymeria blinked.

“I thought maybe you were lost. You look a bit confused. Oh, sorry! I don’t mean to offend, excuse my poor manners.” The girl shot her an apologetic look, her cheeks flushed.

Nymeria laughed sheepishly, scratching her head nervously. “Oh, did I look lost?”

“Sorry, we don’t mean to be rude.” Her elven companion replied. Her curls were tied back elegantly with a white barrette. Decorated with lilies.

“Yes, I was just making sure you were in the right place. This _is_ a large building, after all.” The blond nodded. “And my uncle is rather temperamental and neurotic about our events. I just don’t want you to run into trouble with him. He’s a bit … direct in his speech, so to speak.”

Nymeria noted her eloquent speech patterns. This young lady seemed well-educated, on top of being wealthy. Just standing near them made Nymeria feel extremely overwhelmed and out of place. All she was wearing was her best jacket - a old, tacky red blazer with gold embroidery over her plaid shirt and corduroys. And here these two ladies were, with their long ballroom gowns, designer stilettos, and diamond-studded barrettes.

“I was just told this is the floor the conference would be taking place. I was going to wait until it started. Oh - here’s my badge. Sorry, I just got it so I didn’t put it on yet…”

 _Damn it, I must sound like a blabbering idiot._ She told herself. _These people are basically Orlesian royalty, Nymeria. Stop fucking this up, damn it!_

“That’s alright. His flight didn’t get in until a few hours ago anyway. He’s probably in the office, preparing his pieces for the conference.”

Nymeria held out her hand, clearing her throat: “I presume you’re a member of the Valmont family. I’m Nymeria - Nymeria Lavellan. I’m here on behalf of a friend of mine from the Skyhold Historical Society.”

“Oh, I’m sorry - please excuse my rudeness again. My name is Celene,” The elegant blonde young girl shook Nymeria’s hand gently. “Celene Valmont. And this is my partner, Briala.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Nymeria shook his hand too.

“We’ll be speaking to you at the conference for your patronage then. Well, to be exact my uncle, Florian Valmont, is the one in charge. So I suppose you’ll be speaking to him.”

“I see.”

Celene motioned for Nymeria to follow them down the halls, humming a soft tune.

They walked to a wide, spacious foyer. The lights were dazzling and the air smelled like potpourri.

“I will be at the conference with him to help you with your case in retrieving the Orlesian pieces for the museum. With my help, you might have a chance to get the donation.”

“Thank you. To be honest, since I’m here on behalf of my roommate, my understanding of the process is minimal, if not extremely limited.”

Celene laughed. “Not to worry! I’ll try convincing my uncle to let the museum take it at a discounted fee.”

“I’m sure it won’t be a problem if it’s a reasonable sum.” Nymeria nodded

They strolled down the halls. The walls were decorated with oak tables, vintage vases filled with bouquets of pastel-colored flowers, and paintings with ornate-frames.

“Ah! Here it is - the conference room.” Celene pointed out, sliding her own keycard to get it open. “Now you know where it is. Your presentation will take place halfway through the conference, and the rest you can leave to me.”

“Thank you _so much_ for helping me,” Nymeria replied graciously.

“The pleasure is mine.” Celene sighed. “I keep telling uncle to show the world his art but he always wants to keep it all to himself. If he had sold all the pieces he brought to Antiva, our flight wouldn’t have been delayed yesterday. I _told him_ there wouldn’t be enough space to fit all his ceramic pieces into our luggage.” She shook her head sadly.

“He _does_ like his antique pieces most.” Briala nodded.

“The good news is even if it takes a few hours to negotiate the exact details of your requisition, we’ll be working closely together.” Celene beamed. “ _I_ persuade uncle on donating his pieces to the museum while _you_ provide the hard facts!”

“Sounds pretty clear-cut when you say it like that.” Nymeria shot her a look of relief.

“Actually, Briala’s the one that really pushed for the donation idea.” Celene explained. “She’s been a patron for the Skyhold Historical Society for years. I merely pitched her idea to my uncle.”

“He wouldn’t have listened to me,” Briala shook her head. “Celene’s like his second daughter. I’m pretty sure he hates my guts.”

“Oh, don’t say that. He’ll warm up to you eventually! It just takes him time.”

Celene gripped Briala’s arm tightly, and the two smiled at each other lovingly.

“You make a good couple,” Nymeria complimented.

“Thank you!” Celene smiled. She held up her hand and showed Nymeria the silver diamond on her finger. “We got engaged a few weeks ago! We just came back from our celebration in Amaranthine, in fact!”

“Ah, congratulations then.”

“Anyway, I’m sure you’re already aware that the conference has been moved back.”

“Mmh-hmm. I just wanted to make sure I knew where it was held first.”

“Well, now you know.” Celene beamed pleasantly again.

“Yeah, thanks.” Nymeria nodded. “I think I might grab some food too.”

“Ah, now that you mention it, I’m hungry as well.” Briala nodded. “As I recall, there’s a bistro downstairs. Would you care to join us, Miss Lavellan?”

“Nymeria.” She replied, blushing. “You can just call me Nymeria.”

Celene smiled and nodded.

“So would like you to join us for a quick lunch?”

“Oh, no. I really don’t want to impose…” Nymeria shook her head.

“What? You aren’t imposing! Come, we’ll pay!”

“No! I couldn’t possibly - “

“Oh, we insist! After all, we _did_ make you come all the way here to this incredibly luxurious hotel. It’s ridiculous that my uncle wants all his patrons to spend so much money at his expense. I tried telling him to move it to a more affordable location, but he’s just _so_ stubborn. Anyway, let us treat you for having you dragged all the way here!”

Nymeria bit her lip. She could probably swing a expensive meal. Her bank account wasn’t exactly dry. But she didn’t want to pass up the opportunity for free food. After all, she had to pay for the ridiculously high cab fare and quickly learn everything about rare exotic antiquities in the span of thirty minutes. A decent meal seemed like adequate compensation for her troubles.

“I…” She sighed, overwhelmed by mixed feelings of guilt and humility.

“Oh, come on! You have time to kill. What better way than to eat and make a few friends?”

Celene gently gestured Nymeria towards the elevators. They passed the big circular rotunda from earlier, Nymeria dodging all the marble columns as she struggled to keep up with Celene’s surprisingly springy steps.

“As you can tell, Celene’s a bit excited.” Briala told Nymeria, chuckling. “Our engagement announcement went better than we imagined, so she’s pretty pleased.”

“Well, that _is_ a good reason to be happy. What did you say you-”

**_“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE’S OUTSIDERS HERE?”_ **

A loud, booming voice nearly made Nymeria jump out of her skin.

The entire floor echoed the thunderous words throughout the halls and even the chandeliers seemed to shudder.

 _“REYNAUD, YOU HAD **ONE** _ _JOB!”_ The voice around the corner continued. _“YOU KNOW BETTER THAN TO INVITE OUTSIDERS TO OUR CONFERENCES!”_

Celene shot Nymeria an apologetic look.

 _“That’s my uncle.”_ She whispered as they turned the corner.

_“WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT INVITING THOSE DAMN KNIFE-EARS INTO OUR BUSINESS?”_

The vicious, angry spite in his words made Nymeria flinch uncomfortably.

“ _Uncle_!” Celene exclaimed angrily from around the corner.

“Celene!”

There was a middle-aged man dressed in a suit approaching Celene. He was a short man and carried a rather meek, sad posture as he walked. He was at least in his fifties and was balding badly. He wore a conference badge just like Nymeria. It read, _Reynaud Valmont._

“You can’t go around using language like that, uncle!” Celene reprimanded at the elderly man standing behind Reynaud.

 _Her uncle,_ Nymeria tried to hide her frown. _I can see what she meant by ‘direct in his speech’._

Briala stood beside her, silently acknowledging Reynaud.

Florian Valmont had a long silver beard that ran straight down his chest and short, bobbed hair. He stood six feet tall and looked around seventy, perhaps even older. When compared to Nymeria’s barely 5-foot height, he seemed was quite tall for an elderly man.

He too wore a black suit like Reynaud, only pressed neatly with a Rivaini brand woven into the sleeves in silk threads. Even his pointed leather shoes were decorated with intricate Orlesian designs and expertly polished. Everything about Florian Valmont screamed ‘famous’ and ‘influential’. He _was_ head of the entire Valmont family fortune after all.

“M-My apologies, Florian…” Reynaud replied nervously. “But I believe we have a few visitors from the city here for the conference…”

“Uncle, please.” Celene tried to calm him down. “This is Nymeria Lavellan. She’s here on behalf of the Skyhold Historical Society. Remember? We told you about their donation requests?”

“Donation request?”

Nymeria was surprised Florian Valmont didn’t bark at Celene like he did her father.

“From Skyhold Historical Society?” Celene reminded.

“Oh, that.” Florian’s grouchy face loosened up a little.

 _Briala was right; He probably does have a soft spot for Celene._ Nymeria noted.

“I remember, I remember…” He still wore a scowl though. “Fine, I’ll give a donation to the Skyhold Society. But _you_ \- “

Florian turned to Reynaud again.

“ _Didn’t_ I tell you to make sure you knew _exactly_ made it to our guest list? What would the Calliers think of us? Lady Sidonia is supposed to be here too! What would she think?” Florian was enraged, and Reynaud was speechless - and probably frightened.

Underneath those thick, bushy eyebrows were sharp, piercing eyes.

Florian Valmont looked extremely angry.

He glared at Nymeria as if she had stolen his lunch money.

She gulped, feeling her heart suddenly beat twice as fast.

“The Valmont Company _does not_ need to hear the needs of backwater, slant-eared derelicts! I _told_ you to double check the guest list and make sure we _only_ had well-known guests attending! _Or was that too hard of a concept for you to grasp?!_ ”

“Uncle!” Celene yelled angrily. “What words you use in front of our guest! Consider present company first if you will!”

Florian Valmont opened his mouth as if to say something in retort, but instead he paused for a second - staring at Celene, conflicted on what to say - before turning back to Reynaud:

“ _You’re_ lucky I don’t pull out your tongue and break your legs, Reynaud.” He threatened. “How in the Maker’s grace did my sister _ever_ choose to marry a pushover like you? Clarisse could’ve done so much better. You know that, right?”

“Leave my father alone!” Celene exclaimed. “You’re truly going to say such atrocities here? _Seriously_ ? In front of my guest? In front of _my fiancee_?!”

“You know very well how I feel about your ‘friendship’, Celene.” Florian replied, though not as aggressively as before. He didn’t even bother glancing at Briala. “You would do well to _keep them out of my sight_!”

Briala, standing next to Nymeria, said nothing.

Nymeria was similarly at a loss for words.

It wasn’t because she was scared. She was just awestruck by the fact that someone like _this_ even existed in the first place. It was the kind of thing she always heard about on the television but had never seen in real life. Ergo, a part of her never really believed people as blatantly racists and bigoted like Florian Valmont existed.

“What’s going on?”

Suddenly, a group of more richly-dressed guests arrived in the hallway where they were. Nymeria was so swept up by Florian’s shouting that she hadn’t even noticed them approaching.

“Ah, my cousins, Florianne and Gaspard!” Celene introduced to Nymeria. “And aunt Melissandre and uncle Theodore! Please, tell uncle Florian to calm down! It’s disgraceful to say such offensive insults to me!” Celene pleaded, clearly upset.

“Yes, I apologize for Florian’s bad mood.” Celene’s aunt - Melissandre - replied.

“It’s really my fault.” Reynaud replied. “It’s my fault. I didn’t know we wanted to the new lineup for this showing to be traditional Orlesian. I figured since we were far from home, we wanted to appeal to the masses and line up some of our more Fereldan designs to get a wider audience…”

“Clients want to see traditional Valmont work, Reynaud!” Florian growled. “Why come to see our work if all they’re looking for are _Fereldan_ designs! They’re clearly here to see Valmont work in the latest, most original form! And where are we from, Reynaud? Hm? It’s _not Fereldan,_ you dim-witted fool!”

Melissandre - a heavyset woman with expensive rings on her fingers - tried to reason with her brother:

“The lineup won’t matter as long as the pieces are sold. We’ve no need to -”

“What a preposterous notion!” Florian snarled. “ _My_ pieces are top-quality, made from the finest material and crafted with precision and pristine aesthetic! They are no mere vases or flower pots, Melissandre. I’ve studied this art form for _years!_ Do not lecture me about the art world! _Your son_ has been influencing your head with ridiculous notions of selling-out!”

“Gaspard’s work is exemplary and well-known!” Melissandre defended.

“‘ _Well-known’_ ? Ha! You think having a few photographs in a exhibition in Fereldan is ‘ _exemplary’_ ?” Florian laughed cruelly. “All your son does is press a tiny black button on his camera and _you_ think it’s art that’s worthy of exhibition, fame, and money?! What a laughable notion, sister!”

“But uncle - ”

“Why do you insist on letting him waste so much time taking silly photos, Melissa? He should let go of this hopeless dream of his and pursue a _real_ career! One that he’s _actually_ good at! Not this wasteful garbage he calls art!”

 _Poor Gaspard,_ Nymeria thought as she looked over the solemn man to her right.

“Uncle!” Celene yelled. “That is my cousin you’re speaking to! And if mother hears this, she’ll-”

“If I hear what?”

“Mother!”

Yet another guest - a woman with silver-blond hair just like Celene appeared down the opposite end of the hall. She too wore a sleek gown and strappy heels.

“This new lineup is an utter disgrace!” Florian explained to her. “Fereldan designs over _my most-prized_ originals? What a joke! Your husband must fancy himself a comedian!”

“Nonsense,” Clarisse Valmont replied unceremoniously. “I just visited both the Skyhold Museum of History _and_ the Skyhold Museum of Art in one day, Florian. Their aesthetics beg for variance. We cannot just show what _you_ want purely because you think Orlais design work is better than Fereldan. People in Skyhold want diversity and I say giving them what we want is clearly the best and most rational outcome. Besides, I was just about to pull out a few more of the Nevarran pieces for Antivan ones. Come with me to choose them, if you’d like.”

“This is ridiculous…” Florian scowled.

“Do not be such a child, Florian.” Clarisse replied coolly. “And leave my husband out of your mood swings. Reynaud’s work is splendid on its own. Jealousy doesn't suit you well, brother. You wouldn’t want your guests to think you a petty man, would you?”

Florian grumbled something under his breath - something unintelligible - and then shuffled back towards the open door behind him.

“Fine,” Nymeria heard him mutter as he disappeared back into what Nymeria presumed was his room. “Do what you want.”

And then his door slammed behind him.

Clarisse Valmont rolled her eyes behind him.

“Honestly, I don’t know what goes on inside his head.” She clicked her tongue before turning to Celene and her companions. “The ceremony was lovely, Celene. And Briala, I _do_ love the lillies on the barrette! It was an adorable touch to your outfit yesterday!”

“Thank you,” Briala blushed, curtseying to Clarisse. Nymeria wondered if she should do the same.

“ **_Briala!_ ** _”_

Briala nearly jumped two feet in the air.

Florian opened the door to his room again.

“I need to speak with you. Come to my room later.” Florian demanded. “I need to talk to you about something important.”

“Um, yes sir.” Briala nodded.

Florian disappeared into his room again.

“Let’s go somewhere less intense, shall we?” Celene suggested, sighing disheartedly. “Perhaps to grab some food downstairs? After hearing all that, I feel like I should buy you an entire year’s worth of dinner! I apologize on behalf of my uncle. I’m sorry, Nymeria”

“That’s -“ Nymeria tried to sound nonchalant. “That’s alright. You _did_ warn me beforehand.”

“I feel so embarrassed.” Celene apologize to her.

“My brother is a bit hard to get along with.” Clarisse explained. “But stick with my daughter and I, and we will make sure to defend you. Your museum will get our support regardless of what he says.”

“Thank you,” was all Nymeria could reply with.

She genuinely felt like Celene and her immediate family were good people. She was sure the Valmonts weren’t as bad as they seemed. However, at the moment Florian Valmont was far from her favorite.

* * *

 “I can't stand him! How can he say things like that to our children?"

"Although, I do agree on not letting in outsiders ..."

"Oh, that old coot probably isn't long for this world. As soon as Florian's gone, all the family business will go to us. And then we won’t be tormented by him any longer.”

“Yes, our time will come then.”

“You’ve got big plans, Melissandre. Hopefully it’ll work out for you.”

“What does _that_ mean? Do you know something I do not? What have you heard?”

“You sure you want to know?”

...

...

“What? _That’s impossible! He wouldn’t dare_!”

“He was planning to make a public announcement about it the moment we finish this auction up.”

“But! That’s - “

“It sounds exactly like something he’d do! He wants to make our lives difficult! He’s always been eager to anger us! This is _just_ like your brother, Melissa!”

“I _can’t_ believe this!”

“Exactly, so we need to move.”

“Move? Where?”

“No, I mean we have to make our move. Soon.”

“What? What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, there’s 24 hours left until we reach Orlais and he makes his speech in front of the cameras. We need to do _something_. We have the change is mind, you know? Convince the old coot not to give it all to  _her._ _Something_ has to happen before then.”


	4. Just Another Business Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nymeria joins the Valmonts for lunch while Florian discusses something rather serious with Briala...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel Celene and Briala are a bit OOC because I'm viewing them from their younger standpoint. Also, I need to take some creative liberties as this IS a) a murder mystery and b) a modern universe. 
> 
> tldr; Please forgive me if this was terrible.

**—Nymeria 8:07 am**

_[attached image: .jpg]_

_Guess who's eating lunch with freakin Clarisse Valmont right now???_

_That's right. THIS GIRL RIGHT HERE_

_You jealous?_

**—Varric 8:10 am**

_This might just be your lucky break_

_Damn right I'm jealous_

_Try to get the scoop on the upcoming election from Clarisse_

_Orlesian readers are just dying for anything at this point_

**—Nymeria 8:11 am**

_I'll see what I can do, boss ;)_

_\---------------------------------------------------------_

**—Merrill 8:05 am**

_Is that a picture of you with Celene Valmont you just uploaded it online...?_

**—Nymeria 8:06 am**

_Yep. Eating breakfast with her right as we speak haha_

_And the rest of their family_

_they're p much exactly how you'd imagine them_

**—Merrill 8:08 am**

_Really?_

_Is Briala there with you?_

_I didn't think they'd be there, what with the engagement and whatever..._

_If she's there can you get her autograph for me???_

**—Nymeria 8:09 am**

_Srsly?_

_I can try_

 

**—Merrill 8:10 am**

_Also, aim to get the vase for a 50% discounted rate plz_

_otherwise our accounting dept will be really mad_

_we've already spent too much on the nevarran ceramic tiles last month..._

**—Nymeria 8:12 am**

_I'll do my best but I can't guarantee anything_

* * *

Nymeria viewed eating with the Valmonts as she would any other business luncheon. It was just another hoop she had to jump through in order to seal the deal. It was not unlike any other meetings she had to attend on Varric’s behalf as his assistant. After this, she would go back home, report to Merrill, and ask Varric for that other job he had lined up for her.

  
She poked at the half-eaten bowl of salad before her as they spoke.

  
Nymeria had always been a fast eater, which meant business meals were usually a pain. She always seemed to be waiting for the other party to finish their food, regardless if she tried pacing herself or not.

  
_When was this conference starting anyway?_   It was almost as though Florian Valmont expected everything and everyone to bend to his ever-changing will.

 _Scratch that, he probably **does** expect that._ Nymeria rolled her eyes.

“So Florian is your uncle through your father?” She asked Celene, trying to stir up conversation to pass the time.

Clarisse replied before Celene had the chance. “He’s Reynaud’s brother. Although,” She took a sip of her wine. “The two of them are as different as night and day though. Here, let me show you."

Clarisse took out a light pink, silk hankerchief from her purse. there was a delucate, intricate embroidery design on it. Upon closer inspection, Nymeria realized it was actual an embroidery of the Valmont-Harimann family tree, and it look a bit like this:

  * **Reynaud** (+Clarisse) = Celene
  * **Florian** _(+Justinia) = Evangeline_
  * **Melissandre** (+Theodore) = Gaspard & Florianne



"Florian is married?" Nymeria asked, surprised anyone would ever want to marry a horrid, temperamental man like that.

"He was, yes." Celene replied. "He was married and had a lovely daughter about Celene's age. Unfortunately, both my niece and sister-in-law perished a few years ago due to the Blight."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry to hear that." Nymeria replied, regretting to have asked at all.

"It's quite alright, my dear." Clarisse replied. "So tell us about yourself, what is it you like doing in your spare time? You know, other than fill in for a friend at a dreadful luncheon?" Clarisse chuckled.

Nymeria laughed. "I'm afraid not much. I pretty boring. I usually read, write, maybe go to the library every now and then - go see a museum or two if I find the time..."

“You go to the library often? Because my father’s a book-keeper at the National Library of Orlais.” Celene explained proudly.

“It’s quite a boring profession when you compare it to a professional artist like Florian.” Reynaud, sitting the opposite side of the table, replied sheepishly. It was surprising how timid Reynaud was compared to his overbearing, abrasive brother.

 _I guess Florian’s Head of the Family for a reason,_ Nymeria thought. _Celene has her mother’s elegance and her father’s naivety._

“Quit being modest, father.” Celene shook her head. “Besides, Uncle Florian’s such a snob about being an artist.”

“Now, now Celene,” Clarisse warned her daughter, clearing her throat into her napkin. “Keep your voice down. Don’t go speaking ill of the Valmont family in public.”

“Yes, mother.” Celene blushed, embarrassed.

"Anyway, it seems artists run in the family,” Nymeria replied, eager to change the subject for Celene’s sake. “Gaspard was just telling me about his upcoming exhibition. I’m actually interested in seeing some of his work too.”

“Oh, his work is really unique.” Celene beamed. “Uncle Florian says he doesn’t like it but I think Gaspard’s work has it's merits. Photography can be just as skill-driven as sculpture.”

“Unfortunately for our Gaspard, my brother-in-law disagrees wholeheartedly.” Theodore shook his head sadly.

“Uncle Florian just doesn’t know how to appreciate it. It takes a certain prowess to be out there in the right spot at the right time to capture rare moments! It takes a certain luck, you know? I think uncle Florian just doesn’t appreciate the beauty in that.”

“Well said, dear cousin.” Florianne replied, leaning over to join the conversation. “Perhaps if you were to put in a good word for us, uncle Florian would be more willing to fund our next exhibition?”

“Uncle Florian surely doesn’t honor my opinion as strongly as you think, Florianne.” Celene laughed. “You give me too much credit.”

“Well, you _are_ his favorite niece.” There was a hint of bitterness in Florianne’s voice.

“It’s probably because you look so much like Eva.”

“Hush now, Theodore.” Clarisse shot her brother-in-law a harsh look. “There will be no talk of Evangeline. Especially in front of Florian. You know how he gets when he hears anyone mention her name.”

“Evangeline was his daughter?” Nymeria couldn’t help but be curious. "The one who died from the Blight?"

  
“Yeah, Uncle Florian was absolutely heartbroken when they died.”

_“That’s quite enough, Lady Celene.”_

The table turned to greet a older Orlesian woman, dressed in a gray suit with peachy cheeks and a stern, scowling face. Her hair was pinned up in a bun and she looked like a businesswoman of some sort.

“Why, Ms. Mantillon!” Clarisse smiled, waving the woman closer to sit next to them. “I hadn’t been informed you would be able to make it to lunch with us!”

“Well, Florian’s busy gathering his notes for the conference. I’ll deliver his share of lunch shortly after this. He works too hard.” Ms. Mantillon replied, her voice stern and punctual. She hung her designer purse on her chair and proceeded to order a glass of water.

“Nymeria, this is Ms. Mantillon.” Clarisse introduced. “She works with Florian and is the family’s personal assistant.”

“Nice to meet you,” Nymeria tilted her head.

Ms. Mantillon did not greet her, and instead turned to Celene:

“Please be cautious of what you chose to tell outsiders, Celene.” Ms. Mantillon reminded her.

“I’m sorry?” Celene looked confused.

“Do not be so quick to divulge family matters to outsiders.” Ms. Mantillon told her.

Nymeria rose a brow.  
_Was this woman seriously pretending Nymeria wasn’t at the table? Who was she anyway?_

“What? Nymeria’s our guest! She’s not some - “

“She’s a reporter.” Ms. Mantillon declared.

_“What!?”_

Nymeria blinked. All seven pairs of eyes stared back at her.

“Is that true?” Clarisse asked, regaining her voice.

“Uh, yes.” Nymeria was unnerved. “I work at the Daily Herald, actually. But I don’t think that should matter…?”

“Yes, why is that a problem?” Celene asked defensively on Nymeria’s behalf.

“The Valmont family is too well-known to have some hack-writer ruin our reputation by smearing our name in the papers!”

“I’m not here as a reporter,” Nymeria spoke up. “I’m just here to close a deal for my friend. She works at the Skyhold National History Museum. There is no ulterior motive, I assure you.”

“Is that so?” Ms. Mantillon clearly didn’t believe her. “And who’s to say if that’s true or not?”

“Nymeria wouldn’t lie to us. She - “

“Celene, my dear, don’t be so naive.” Mantillon rolled her eyes. “You _just_ met this woman. You can’t believe everything everyone tells you, dear girl. We don’t know who this girl is. She’s a reporter; she could write anything about us. She could sabotage the family name. You can say one thing and she can turn into something entirely different!”

“With all due respect, madam,” Nymeria spoke up. “You do not know me.”

“ _Exactly my point_ ,” Mantillon replied rudely. “ _I do not know you -_ which is precisely my point. Who are you to befriend Celene? How do we know you have no ulterior motive?”

Nymeria snorted. “I hadn’t even the faintest idea who you were until this morning.”

“You could be lying.” Theodore muttered.

“Lady Mantillon, perhaps you’re being too harsh…” Clarisse cleared her throat to come to Nymeria’s defense.

“Nonsense. You know I have a point, Clarisse. This is all for the sake of your daughter, you know.” Mantillon frowned. “She’s a reporter. You of all people should know how they are. She could write about us. She could slander us in the press,” Mantillon argued.

"If you've got nothing to hide, then you have nothing to fear." Clarisse replied coolly.

"Oh please, you and I both know that it's doesn't always work out that way." Mantillon snorted.

“I don’t intend to write anything about today, I assure you.” Nymeria replied dully. “If I had any intention of writing anything about the Valmont family, I would say so outright.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you have a moral code.” Ms. Mantillon sneered. “You’ve nothing but your word to convince us. You could very well write anything about us!”

“Then don’t give me anything to write about, and we’ll have no problems.” Nymeria shot back, glaring at Mantillon warily.

Of course, Nymeria could’ve told them she was merely an assistant to Varric Tethras, the editor of the Daily Herald Tribune. She rarely even wrote for the papers anymore. In fact, she was about to retire from that profession in hopes of other ventures.

Then again, she had always been hot-headed in the face of the pretentious and presumptuous.

* * *

Florian’s suite was as extravagant as one would suspect for the head of the Valmont family. The large windows were hidden behind the suede, beige curtains and the bed was decorated with rich oak woodwork and blankets with glittering studs on gold and green fronds.

Briala stepped into his room, her suede black flats dipping into the soft red velvet carpet as if she was walking on clouds.

Too bad present company tended to be rather intense and outright frightful.

Florian Valmont sat down in the leather chair near his desk and didn’t say a single word to her.

Unsure of what to do, Briala just stood there for a few seconds, quiet and anxious.  
She was about to say something to break the silence when Florian pulled out a large manilla folder.

Slowly, he pulled out some documents that looked hauntingly familiar…

_Oh, no._

Her heart skipped a beat.

_No, no, no, no, no..._

His voice echoed the room:

“I’ll have to say, I’m surprised you managed to come this far. You slipped in right under my very nose and almost got away with it.”

She swallowed.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“You didn’t think I was going to just let you marry my niece without doing any legwork of my own, did you?”

“Sir- “

One corner of Florian’s lip curled upright unpleasantly, as if he had just smelled a dead rat in his presence. He stared at her like she was something disgusting - a vermin, or some kind of poisonous rat.

“I hope you don’t intend to continue this poorly-constructed ruse, Briala.” He snorted. “I surmise Briala isn't even your real name, is it?”

“What?”

“Your pathetic parents would be turning in her grave, you little bitch.”

Briala felt her heart beginning to pound. Her ears were turning red.

“I don't -”

“Don't lie to me, wench. I've already figured you out! The entire thing - your identity, your motives, your past! I know it all! I had a private eye look into things for me, and the evidence is piled up!”

“Sir, I know it looks bad, but I'm -”

“You think you can come in here, bright as day, thinking to seduce my niece? Thinking to use my precious Celene? How dare you! You - a worthless knife-ear! You harlot! You halla-humping little slut!”

“...”

Florian continued taunting her:  
“Nothing to say, hm? Not even going to defend yourself?”

Briala stood there silently, head down as if ashamed of herself. Her chest felt heavy and her head was pounding. Sweat beaded her forehead as she stared at the carpet beneath her feet.

Then suddenly, she spoke with a odd calmness in her voice:  
“I have nothing to say to you. It has been done and I won’t speak of it anymore.”

“Done? And what exactly has been done? What is it you seek? To avenge your family? To steal my fortune? To ruin my company? To steal my own kin from under me?”

“It is all in the past, Florian.”

“Ha! How rich! You don’t think I’d just let you sit here and continue poisoning my family! The moment Celene finds out about you, she’ll drop you in the blink of an eye!”

“Celene won't find out anything from you.” Briala said quietly, her voice hoarse and breath unsteady.

“What was that?”

Briala's hands were shaking. Her eyes were suddenly bloodshot and glazed, scanning the room and looking anywhere but at Florian's smug face.

Her hands curled into tight, white fists.

Her brows furrowed as she slowly approached Florian...

* * *

“Melissandre, the exhibition Gaspard is having - isn’t it in Val Royeaux?”

“Yes, it is.”

“But the subject matter is Ferelden, isn’t it?” Clarisse asked. “Are you sure it will be well-received?”

“It won the Ferelden Award for Best of Show in Amarantine.” Melissandre explained. “And received recommendations from the International Photography Show. I’m sure there will be interested parties in Val Royeaux.”

“Besides, the subject matter I’ve captured this time is sure to startle and amaze the audience.” Gaspard smirked. “The scenes of a fire is always a compelling subject matter for viewers.”

“It’s almost frightful how you managed to see two fires to photograph in a year!” Celene shuddered visibly.

“I consider myself lucky, I suppose.” Gaspard shrugged.

“Or unlucky, depending on how you view it,” Nymeria noted.

Gaspard laughed. “That is also true, Ms. Lavellan.”

“Please, just call me Nymeria.”

“Anyway, the exhibition will be up in two days.” Theodore told them. “It’ll be at the National Museum of Contemporary Art in Val Royeaux.”

“Maybe this time we’ll have more pieces!” Florianne beamed.

“Yes, and I’ll probably win the Orlesian Award for Best Upcoming Photographer too!” Gaspard boasted.

“That’s what we’re hoping for.”

“As long as we tell them of all the awards I’ve won previously, I’m sure we won’t have any problems gathering more interest at the exhibition.”

“You seem excited about it,” Nymeria noted.

“Gaspard is very confident of his work.” Theodore patted his son on the back. “As any young, successful artist should be, of course. Perhaps you can write about his exhibition, Ms. Lavellan?”

“I’ll think about it,” Nymeria replied, shifting uncomfortably.

At that moment, Celene’s eyes widened in pleasant surprise. She was staring past Nymeria’s shoulders.

“Hey, what did I miss?”

Celene greeted Briala, who joined them as they lined up to order their coffees at the cafe, with a quick embrace.

“Wait - what’s wrong?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing.” Briala smiled. “I was just - I was just doing some thinking…”

“Is everything alright?” Celene asked, concerned. “You seem worried.”

“It’s nothing, Celene.”

“What did uncle Florian want with you?”

“It’s a long story,” Briala bit her lip. “I’ll tell you about it later tonight. I promise.”

“Well, okay,” Celene replied uneasily. “I grabbed you a croissant, by the way.”

“Oh, thanks.” Briala smiled, squeezing her hand tightly.

“Nymeria, do you want anything?” Celene asked.

“No, I’m okay.” Nymeria shook her head. “I’m actually going to excuse myself for a second. I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

 _I need a damned break before I go back there to deal with Florian._ She rolled her eyes internally. _Merrill sure threw me into a trap this time. She owes me for this. Big time._

“Alright, we’ll wait for you once we finish up here.” Celene told her.

“Great. Thanks.”

Nymeria then slipped out of the cafe line and walked down the long hallway until she reached the bathrooms at the end. She was greeted by a large bathroom with brightly-lit chandeliers and marble countertops. There was a red sofa in the ‘waiting’ area in the front. The stalls were in the back.

 _Maker. Even the bathrooms look like a damned mansion._ She thought.

Nymeria swiftly stepped into a toilet stall and bolted the door.

She pulled the toilet seat down to sit on and fished out her phone:

 _[1 Missed Call] Varric_  
_[1 Unheard Voicemail] Varric_

She double-tapped Varric’s name on the ‘Calls’ list on her phone and brought down the menu to view her voicemails. Her phone immediately started translating the words into text based on the audio recording.

Outside the bathroom, a few footsteps neared her, but Nymeria ignored them to read Varric’s message:

_"Hey, it’s me. Call me when you’re done with Daisy’s stuff. I have some things you can work on if you’re still interested. Also let me know if anything noteworthy happens with the Valmonts. I have contacts that would love to have the scoop on them, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I’ll talk to you later, kid."_

She heard the bathroom door open and hushed voices started bouncing off the walls.

Nymeria couldn’t help but listen in.

_**“What?”** _

“You heard me correctly, my lady. The fortune is to go only to Celene.”

“How dare you!”

It was Melissandre and Mantillon.

Instinctively, Nymeria raised her feet to the seat of the toilet so they wouldn't know she was in the stall. She hadn’t planned on eavesdropping, but she was curious. Besides, if Mantillon expected her to write a scathing article about the Valmont family, Nymeria might as well give Varric some information on the matter. Although judging by their conversation thus far, it was probably just family drama. Nothing noteworthy.

Still, eavesdropping on them gave Nymeria some kind of sadistic glee because Lady Mantillon had not been particularly pleasant.

“Silly woman, you think this was _my_ plan?” Mantillon was laughing unsympathetically. “Why, it was all _your_ brother’s idea! If you’ve the gall, go ask him for an explanation!”

“You! You must’ve had some hand in the matter!” Melissandre snarled. “I know what you are you to him! Don’t try to deny it!”

“My lady, I’m not denying anything.” Mantillon laughed again.

“This can’t - You can’t - I mean -” Melissandre was at a loss for words. “I mean, all of it? Surely he left us something of importance?”

“Dear Melissandre, you seem so distraught!” Mantillon sighed. “I’m afraid he’s left you nothing. No one except Celene was mentioned in Florian’s will. It seems you’ve gambled and lost, my dear.”

“I can’t believe he’d do this to us…” Melissandre's voice seemed shaken.

 _Really? I’m not surprised at all._ Nymeria rolled her eyes. _He seems like a generic jackass anyway. Celene's **really is** the only one he cares for..._

“I’ll be announcing it to the rest of the family after the conference,” Mantillon replied. “So do try to act surprised, Melissandre. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to help Florian prepare for the conference.”

With that, the door to the bathroom swung closed and the footsteps faded away.

_Yep. I was right: family drama. Damned rich people fighting over money and inheritance. This is starting to feel like a soap opera._

Nymeria walked out of the stall minutes later, thinking little of it anyway.

After this conference was over, she was going to go home and make a Baked Ziti for dinner.

* * *

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The blood oozed out onto the red velvet carpet to form tiny little puddles that seeped into the soft fabric, spreading like wildfire.

Florian knew he was dying.

But he still had to.protect himself.

_Maybe, just maybe…_

Maybe he could make it.

He closed to door and locked it.

And then...

His last breath left him.

He dropped to the carpet with a heavy thud, the last remnants of his pained grimace still etched on his face.

* * *

Ms. Mantillon knew she was running late.

Melissandre had been exceedingly annoying today, which may’ve explained why Ms. Mantillon felt the need to rub Florian’s will in her face. She’d have to tell Florian, of course. But he’d probably be ecstatic that Melissandre was fuming.

 _That woman cares for nothing but money anyway,_ Mantillon shook her head sadly. _But this way, Celene will be the sole successor of the family fortune and business. Clarisse and I will be the primary caretakers for the girl._

She felt something soft squish underneath her foot as she stopped in front of Florian’s door.

When she lifted her foot, she found a silver barrette decorated with lilies.

 _Lilies. Briala. She must’ve dropped it._ She thought.

Frowning irritably, she gently nudged the petals to the side with her foot and proceeded to knock on Florian’s door.

“Sir?” She spoke into the door. “It’s me. I’m here to help with the conference material. Can I come in?”

There was no answer.

Mantillon tried knocking again.

“Sir? Are you sleeping?”

No answer again.

Sighing irritably, she proceeded to pull out her own keycard and slid it into the slot near the door handle. In her haste and annoyance, she failed to notice the small splatter of red decorating the gold doorway on the floor.

The door’s mechanism clicked, the green light flashing, and she swiftly opened the door, ready to chastise Florian.

"Florian, I'm coming in. I hope you don't-"

**_Blood._ **

Ms. Mantillon immediately froze in her steps.

Someone started screaming.

She dropped her purse and folder unconsciously. Her legs turned to jelly and she found herself plummeting to her knees. A peculiar smell pervaded the air as she collapsed. Her stomach churned and bubbled.

Seconds later, she realized she was the one screaming.

* * *

By the time Nymeria and the others arrived on the scene, it was already too late.

Still, she immediately called the Skyhold Police Department.

No one was allowed inside the scene of the crime, she told the shocked Valmont family.

Briala was doing her best to comfort a distraught and weeping Celene, who tried to enter the room to see her uncle desperately. Briala and Clarisse had to hold her back from entering the room. Clarisse’s face was ash white and her hands were shaking. She could barely take her eyes away from her dead brother-in-law.

Nymeria tried to ask Ms. Mantillon on specifics of the circumstances in which she found Florian, but the Valmont personal assistant woulld barely say a word. Her face was scrunched as if she suspected Nymeria herself of killing Florian. So if Ms. Mantillon was distressed, she certainly hid it well.

In fact, no one said a word.

No one knew what to say. They were all too shocked.

Judging by the dried blood around Florian, it had been too late to save him now.

It was probably even too late when Ms. Mantillon arrived to see him.

No one knew when it had happened.

No one saw anyone.

But there was one thing they knew for certain:

Florian Valmont was dead.

And he had been murdered.


	5. Skyhold Police Station

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short, sorry!

**Skyhold Police Department** _9:06 am_

It was a bright, sunny morning and Iron Bull was cooped up in his own office, bored out of his mind. He was sitting in his office chair, spinning absentmindedly with his adrenaline pumping and his body tingling for some action. He was already deeply regretting drinking those two cups of coffee that morning.

Krem stood on the opposite side of his desk and was going through some of the cases they had on queue for the day.

“Chief, we've got a dispatch call from Redcliffe County at the local drugstore.”

“Yeah? And what exactly is it about, Krem?”

“Theft. The windows were broken and the counters cleared this morning. The owner thinks it happened over the course of last night, what with Satinalia and all, there’s bound to be some party stranglers I suppose...”

“Ugh. Pass.”

“The cameras probably caught the whole thing. Maybe we should -”

“File paperwork? No thanks. That’s Grim’s job. Besides, whoever did it s’prolly gone by now. Let C-Squad handle it. Besides, we're busy.”

“No, we're not.” Krem rolled his eyes. “Also, the old lady next door needs our help with her-”

“No. After last time, I'm pretty sure I'm done helping her forever.”

“There's also a armed robbery at the Fereldan National Bank. You know? The one at the county borderline?”

Bull grunted and yawned.

“Let FPD handle it.”

“With all due respect, chief, isn't this what we're getting paid to do? To stop this sort of thing?”

Bull propped his feet up on his desk and crossed his legs.

“Give me a break, Krem.” He yawned as he spoke, grabbing a silicone ball from his desk drawer. “We got the last robbery and it wasn't even on our turf. Besides, I'm sure Cullen's got it covered by now. That man doesn't know when to relax and take a break from the job. He'll deal with ‘em, no problem.”

“Why don't you tell him that yourself? I'm sure Detective Rutherford will be pleased to hear you think so highly of him, chief.” Krem snorted.

“Yeah, I'll bet he will.”

“You don't think he'll need some backup?”

Bull laughed, tossing the ball into the air.

“Backup? For what, Krem? Robbers are probably long gone by now. Even if we get there all we'll find is some gunpowder and a few strands of hair. No DNA will match it unless we're looking in specific places. So no thanks. Let Cullen handle it. He'll deal with the Fereldan press better than a Qunari anyway.”

“Well then, what about this emergency call from a local in the downtown area? A nice lady wants help finding her cat.”

“Oh for the love of - are you serious, Krem?”

Krem smirked, shrugging. “I admit that was a joke. Thought you might get a rise out of it, to be honest.”

“What I wouldn't give for a damned interesting fucking case to work on.” Bull grumbled.

A knock came at his office door and Grim came in, papers in his hand.

He handed Krem a two-page report before slipping out of the office like a silent shadow.

“Great. Another lady who's lost her damned cat. We haven't had a good case since the murder with the ice pick!” Iron Bull groaned audibly.

“I know, chief.” Krem replied as he flipped through the report. “I'm sure we'll get a good one soon.”

Bull groaned, tossing the rubber silicone ball toward the ceiling to catch it again. “Which do you want to do then? Just pick a case and we'll go, I guess. Otherwise, we're just sitting here being bored out of our skulls.”

“Dunno, chief. Maybe we can go play some - Hold on, I think I've got something."

A smirk tugged on the corner of his lips as Krem leafed through the document in his hand.

The papers were still hot from the printer. This case was fresh.

“Oh, you're going to like this one, Chief.” He told Bull.

Bull snorted. “Yeah? Hit me.”

Krem smirked and handed him the papers.

“Murder. Just now. At Herald's plaza. Stiff was found in his room stabbed in the chest.”

Bull's eyes raised slightly.

“Call just came in seconds ago.”

“Any suspects?”

Krem shook his head. “A few, but we won't know the details until we get there.”

Bull stood from his chair and stretched.

“Well, it sounds a hell of a lot better than the rest. Probably won't be as good as that ice pick though.” Bull grumbled.

“Oh, but I haven't even told you the best part, Chief.”

“Yeah? What's that?”

“The stiff was found in a room locked from the inside.”

Bull's ears perked up and he grinned widely.

“Oh, well that _does_ make things interesting. Why didn't you say that to start with? Oh, this is gonna be good!”

Bull stood up from his desk, grabbed his jacket off the rack hastily.

It had been awhile since Bull had an interesting case. He was getting tingles just thinking about this one.


	6. The White Lily in the Splatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nymeria gets a short interrogation, but otherwise a few flashbacks occur and accusations get thrown around.

Blood seeped into the carpet. The sweet, metallic scent of blood permeated the air. Florian looked just as he did a hour ago when he was still alive. Yet there he was: large, dilated pupils and cold lifeless fingers resting right atop the large burgundy blood stain in the middle of his chest.

Nymeria’s heart was pumping and her face grew hot. There was a long, uncomfortable shiver than ran down her spine as she stared at those cold, lifeless eyes on the corpse. _Those eyes would never blink again._

Visions of the past blurred together before her eyes. Nymeria heard her name being spoken with a voice that was all too familiar.

 _ **Fire**. Fire was everywhere. The houses were burning down. Planks of wood and falling debris rained down from the skies as though it was the end of days. There were echoes of screams in the background. They all sounded so far away as she stood there, dressed in disheveled rags, looking at the cold, distant, lifeless eyes of him._  
_She knew then that those soft lips would never be able to whisper a single loving word to her ever again._

Celene let out a quiet sob, bringing Nymeria back into reality.

Nymeria instinctively pulled out her phone to call the police.

_“No, don’t!”_

Melisandre's fingertips were ice cold the moment they touched Nymeria’s arm.

“What?” Nymeria blinked.

“Don’t!” Melissandre repeated.

“I’m calling the police!” Nymeria’s widened eyes narrowed as she frowned, visibly confused and apprehensive.

“I know what you're doing,” Melissandre swallowed, her eyes glazed and her face sunken and ashen. “Don’t call them.”

"You want me to... _not_ _call the police._ " Nymeria repeated, staring at her judgingly.

"Just..." Melissandre bit her lip. "Don't..."

Nymeria let out a long, deep, inhale: "Don’t call the police. You're telling me to _not_ call the police. _At a murder scene._ _Where one of your relatives has clearly been murdered. You're telling me_   ** _not_** _to call the fucking police?_ _"_  

She would've laughed if the situation wasn't so morbid. She was done with the pleasantries and tip-toeing around these money-grabbing people. She was done being passive-aggressive. **Fuck this.**

She scowled at Melissandre in disgust before reprimanding the vile, selfish woman:

"Are you crazy? **What’s wrong with you?**  This is a murder scene. It’s a crime. A crime just happened here. The hotel needs to be told and the authorities alerted!”

“I- we just - There’s so much - ” Melissandre could hardly string together a cohesive sentence. “We need to think rationally, and - “

“The most rational option is to _obviously_ call the police.” She told Melissandre. _Unless she has something to hide,_ Nymeria thought.

She pulled out her phone and dialed the numbers on the touchscreen.

Melissandre bit her lip nervously again as if she wanted to say something, but held her tongue. The rest of the Valmont family stood in the hotel hallway in silence, an awkward energy filling the room while Celene cried next to a visibly shocked Briala.

“Yes?” Nymeria paced about as she spoke to the Skyhold Police Department. “Hi, my name is Nymeria Lavellan and I'm here at The Herald's Rest Plaza Hotel in Grand Plaza. We just found a man dead in his room.”

There was a short silence. And then -

“I understand, sir. Yes. It's the 52nd floor. There are. No, sir. Okay, I will. Thank you.”

And then she promptly swiped the red button to hang up before turning to the silent Valmont family.

“The Skyhold Police are on the way and order that no one leave the conference room.” She told them.

Clarisse and Briala comforted Celene in the corner of the hallway as the latter cried into a silk handkerchief uncontrollably. Apparently Celene really was Florian’s closest living relative. She was the only one really mourning his loss. Melissandre and Lady Mantillon only looked on in fear, anxiety and paranoia creeping slowly across their faces.

 _There’s more going on than meets the eye,_ she noted. _And it probably has to do with the inheritance money..._

“Maybe there’s still time! We can call an ambulance!” Celene cried.

Nymeria shook her head sadly.

Florian was most definitely dead.

* * *

It took about 20 minutes for Iron Bull to arrive on the scene. Immediately following him was his usual team; Krem would be helping him investigate the crime scene while Rocky and Stitches examined the corpse thoroughly. Grimm was on security while Skinner and Dalish worked with the forensics team.

“I’m Skyhold Police Deputy Chief, Iron Bull. Can someone direct me to the scene of the crime?”

It took less than five minutes to confirm the death of Florian Valmont.

After asking a few questions for the Valmont family to answer, Bull’s attention was turned to the only non-familial member of the group.

“So, what’s a reporter doing in a place like this?” He asked Nymeria, not at all masking his suspicion.

“I’m filling in for my roommate.” She answered confidently. “And I never said I was a reporter. How did you know?”

“You’ve been jotting down notes on your phone.” He replied pointedly. “You didn’t need to say anything. I just figured it out. Unless you’re claiming not to be a reporter?”

“I work for The Daily Herald Tribune.” She explained. “I was supposed to be writing about Redcliffe Pharmaceutical today but there was a change in plans when my roommate couldn’t make it for this art auction today.”

“Lucky you,” Bull replied. His sarcasm was not lost. “And now you’re writing this down for a report?”

“Perhaps.” She responded, defensive. “Is that not allowed?”

 _“Arrest her!”_ Lady Mantillon exclaimed, pointing at Nymeria accusingly. “It was her! It must be! It couldn’t have been any of us! I have no reason to murder Florian!”

“Oh, that’s bullshit, Mantillon! And we all know it!” Melissandre refuted. “Just admit that you were after his money too!”

“Mother!” Florianne tried to calm Melissandre down.

“I understand I’m also a suspect.” Nymeria frowned, turning to Iron Bull. “But I have no motive for Florian Valmont’s murder.”

“True, but not all murderers need to have a reason.” Iron Bull replied coolly, jotting down noted in his tiny notepad.

“So question me.” Nymeria replied, glaring at Lady Mantillon.

“I will. I’ll be questioning all of you, in fact. One by one.” Iron Bull stepped back into Florian’s room and nodded to Krem. “What’s the status of the body, boys?”

“Victim died approximately 40-50 minutes ago. Seems to be stabbed in the heart with a sharp, knife-like object.” Krem replied, snapping the gloves off his hands.

“The victim also seems to have contracted a form of eczema on his skin.” Rocky added, turning Florian’s face to the side to examine a spotty patch of skin on his neck.

“No murder weapon yet?”

“None that we’ve found, Chief.” Krem shook his head. “So far all we’ve got are some black plastic pieces from an unknown item in the pool of blood - might not be relevant to the case though. And then there’s the white barrette outside the room. Both may belong to the culprit.”

“Alright, let’s keep looking.” Bull turned back to Nymeria. “And what was your name?”

“Nymeria.”

“Huh.” Iron Bull paused.

“What?” Nymeria asked, slightly defensive.

“That’s not a Dalish name, is it?”

“No, it isn’t.” Nymeria replied, blinking.

**Suddenly another flashback raced through her mind:**

_“Nymeria isn’t a Dalish name though, is it?”_  
_“No.”_  
_“I assume then that you have a Dalish name?”_  
_“Yes, I do.”_  
_“Would it be rude of me to ask what it is?”_  
_“No, not at all.”_  
_“So then, what would your elvhen name be?”_  
_“It’s…”_

“Everyone must stay in this conference room until we say it is fine to leave.” Bull was saying.

“What? What if we have to go to the bathroom?” Melissandre exclaimed.

“Someone will escort you.” Krem replied calmly.

“Who? _You_?” Melissandre wrinkled her nose at him, face upturned as if the thought disgusted her.

“Yes.”

“Regardless, a murder just happened. This is all standard police procedure. You are all on the suspect list and will each be questioned.” Iron Bull explained. “Please sit down, Mrs. Valmont.”

 _“What about that knife-ear, Briala?_ ” Melissandre shrieked. “It was her barette we found on the floor! You have one of her belongings at the scene of the crime! Doesn’t that mean anything to you? She’s the most suspicious next to Mantillon! Everyone knows Florian didn’t approve of Celene and Briala’s engagement!”

“Stop it!” Celene exclaimed. “Briala’s got nothing to do with this!”

“Oh? Is that right? And what about that screaming I heard outside the door, Briala?” Melissandre yelled. “Care to explain that, Briala? Oh wait, that isn’t even your real name, is it?”

“What are you talking about?” Celene asked defensively. “You’re making no sense!”

“Ask her for yourself, Celene! Ask her what she was talking to Florian about before lunch! Ask her!”

“Mother!” Florianne sat her mother down at the conference table.

“Or it has to be Mantillon!” Melissandre continued. “She also has viable motives!”

“Oh, for - Would you stop accusing other people, mother?!”

“Oh, please! Everyone knows Mantillon was hired as Florian’s personal assistant because they were having a fling at the office! That wretched woman seduced her way into the family’s inheritance money! Clarisse, back me up here! Don’t just sit there!”

 _ **Welcome to Thedas’ most dramatic royal family.**_ Nymeria rolled her eyes.

“I will do nothing of the sort, Melissa. You know I don’t get myself mixed up in our brothers’ affairs. It’s not my place or my concern what he did in his spare time, and neither is it yours. _Have some respect for the dead!”_

“You’re only making yourself look like a lunatic, Melissandre dear.” Mantillon rolled her eyes.

“That’s enough.” Iron Bull frowned. “You’ll all get your turn to explain yourselves when I call you into the room next door.”

“This is ridiculous,” Theodore muttered under his breath.

“ _You. The reporter. Nymeria._ ” Iron Bull nodded at Nymeria, snapping his fingers and motioning for her to follow him and Krem to the room next door. “You’re first. Come with me.”

Nymeria stood and followed Iron Bull and Krem down the hall past the room where Florian’s dead corpse was. The body had already been sealed up and was being moved to the morgue for further inspection. There was a white tape outlining the place where the body was found. The dark pool of blood had thoroughly seeped into the carpet, even the splatters in the doorway had turned a dark brown. Briala’s white lily barrette was still sitting innocently outside Florian’s door.

 _ **Interesting**_.

They entered a smaller conference room. The blinds had been pulled down and there were two officers stationed outside the door. She followed Iron Bull and Krem inside as the doors closed behind them and pulled up a chair to sit opposite from them across a large wooden table.

“Let’s begin,” Bull started, pulling out his notepad. “Your name? Your profession?”

“Nymeria Lavellan. And ‘Freelance Writer’ would be the most official title, I suppose.”

Krem rose a brow. “I thought you were a reporter for The Daily Herald.”

“I am,” She huffed. “But not on a salaried basis. I’m still freelance. I don’t have a steady income.”

 _Hmm_ , was all Iron Bull responded with as he scratched a few more notes on his tiny notepad.

“Your reason for coming down here today was…?”

“My roommate Merrill. She works for the Skyhold History Museum and was trying to seal the deal with the Valmonts for some priceless ceramic pieces. I substituted for her because she came down with a fever.”

More scribbling.

The clock on the wall behind him ticked by slowly. Nymeria was growing more and more irritated by the second. She hated this interrogation process already. There was no way she was the killer. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t a suspect.

“Like I said, I have no reason to kill Florian Valmont.” Nymeria started. “Prior to this day, I’d never even seen or heard of him before.”

“I never said I didn’t believe you.” Bull responded.

She let out a small sigh of relief. _At least the police here are somewhat competent._

“But don’t get too comfortable. I still need to ask you a few questions to follow up.”

“I understand.”

“Based on our analysis, Florian Valmont died approximately 45 minutes ago. The likelihood of the murderer having a personal relationship with the victim is highly probable, but we’re not completely ruling you out just yet, Mrs. Lavellan.”

"Actually, it's just Ms." She corrected, a slight blush flushing her cheeks. 

Iron Bull cleared his throat. "Right. Anyway, we'll be able to confirm your alibi shortly with the video footage and eyewitness reports. You'll be free to leave within the hour, hopefully. After we perform a background check, of course." 

“That’s perfectly understandable.” She agreed.

“Where was everyone else at that time? Do you remember?”

“Well, we ate a quick lunch before heading back to the conference room. We waited for Florian to arrive but Lady Mantillon had to go fetch him, and that was when she discovered the body and we called the authorities.”

“So based on that, the culprit we’re looking for could have been anyone not in the cafeteria or anyone who doesn’t have a substantial alibi for where they were 45 minutes ago. This includes the entire Valmont family.”

“Except for me, Celene, and Clarisse.” Nymeria added. “We were all in the cafeteria then.”

“Do we have video footage that can confirm this?” Iron Bull asked.

“I'm on it, chief.”

Krem nodded as he reached for his walkie-talkie. Or his phone. Whatever contraption was strapped to his belt.

“So that should help alleviate some of the suspicion from me?” Nymeria asked.

“I’m not at liberty to say” Bull shook his head. “But that will be all for now, Ms. Lavellan. Thank you. Krem, please ask Briala in next.”

Nymeria stood from her chair to exit.

“If it makes you feel better, you are not very high on the list of suspects, Ms. Lavellan.” Iron Bull explained. “So if you have other matters to tend to, you will probably be let out earlier than the others.”

“Glad to see that I’m not a probably suspect.”

“Rest assured. That lady, Briala, is more likely to be the culprit than you are.”

“Thank you,” Nymeria paused before exiting the door. “Although, between you and I, I think Briala is also innocent.” She replied.

“What makes you say that?” Iron Bull laughed at her claim. “You should really leave the detective work to us, Ms. Lavellan. We found her barrette at the scene of the crime. That should be suspicious in itself.”

“It is suspicious.” Nymeria explained. “But not for the obvious reason.”

“Meaning…?”

“The bloodstains.” She replied. “Or lack thereof, to be precise.”

“Explain.” Iron Bull demanded. “Are you claiming with certainty Briala is innocent?"

"Yes, I am." She stated confidently. "Based on the blood splatters, the victim was killed with the door open. The blood spattered out into the hallway. You wouldn't be able to get blood splatters like that unless the door was open. I'm sure if you lined the door up in a certain way, you'd find that out eventually."

"Alright, fair point. But what does this have to do with Briala? What evidence do you have of her innocence? Was she in the cafeteria with you?”

“No, she wasn’t. But there’s _some_ merit to my claim, sir.” 

“Oh?” Krem asked.

“Again, the blood spatters in the hallway.” She explained, pointing out the door towards Florian’s room.

Iron Bull got up to examine the scene with her.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Krem asked.

“The barrette is white,” Nymeria explained. “And it is _still_ white.”

“I see,” Iron Bull scratched his chin thoughtfully after a few minutes. “From where we found it, there should be blood splatters on the barrette to line up with the rest of the splatters. After being stabbed, Florian closed the door and locked it from the inside, but then died from blood loss. Then the culprit placed Briala’s barrette on the floor to frame her.”

“Exactly.”

Iron Bull looked at Nymeria, frowning.

“Are you interested in detective work, Ms. Lavellan…?”

“I prefer to be called Nymeria.”

“And you’re interested in the case because you’re a reporter? Or is there another reason for you enjoy playing detective?”

Nymeria couldn’t tell if she had annoyed Iron Bull because she was investigating his case or if he was genuinely impressed with her.

“I’m sorry, am I infringing on your investigation?” She batted her eyelashes.

“I’m asking the questions, Nymeria.”

Hearing him speak her name sent shivers down her spine.

“If you’re referring to my eye for detail in this sort of thing, it’s because I used to a lawyer back in my town.”

“A lawyer?” He cocked a brow.

“A defense attorney, to be exact.” She replied

“Interesting,” Iron Bull nodded his head thoughtfully as he motioned for Krem to escort her back to the conference room.

The Valmont family looked up as she reentered the room, all their eyes watching as Krem asked Briala to come into the interrogation room next.

Nymeria sat down next to a grieving Celene and watched the remaining members of the Valmont family closely.

She only knew one thing at that moment:

_Florian’s murderer was definitely sitting in the conference room with them._


	7. A Family Unhinged

**_Herald’s Rest Plaza Hotel, Downtown Skyhold, 12:27pm._ **

The notepad laying in Iron Bull’s hand was nearly three pages full.

Three pages full of sketch doodles, that is.

Today he had drawn a rather impressive red-eyed dragon, and he was quite proud of it. (Red was the only color pen Krem had).

Bull never wrote down notes. That was Krem’s job. Krem jotted down the notes while Bull sketched out fantasy creatures and questioned his suspects. Pretending to write down notes just happened to be a better cover. Bull never found writing down notes useful anyway - his memory served better than a piece of paper. Besides, this way it seemed as though he was not paying any attention to his suspects’ odd mannerisms. Bull could silently analyze their speech pattern, nervousness, and irregular physical tendencies without arousing their suspicion.

“That was all of them, Chief.”

Krem laid down the clipboard at the desk in front of Bull. His was filled with _actual_ notes. And it was a whole page long.

“Wow. _A whole page of notes in a half hour?_ Never would’ve pegged you for the nerdy type in school, Krem Aclassi. Hahahaha! Get it? A- _class-_ i? Because nerds love school? Hahaha!”

Krem rolled his eyes: “Says the Qunari sketching out his Dungeons & Dragons characters in the middle of important interrogations.”

“Shut up, Krem.”

Bull followed him out the door, trying hard to wipe the big, stupid grin off his face. Skinner and Dalish guarded the conference room where their suspects awaited at the end of the hall.

“By the way Chief, here’s the analysis report on the crime scene, the schedule of all hotel staff today, and some points of interest.” Krem handed Bull one long document after another: “Grim sent it just now. He says the security camera footage can be retrieved too, but their technology is fucking ancient. It's impossible to see anything on it.”

“Where’s Grim now?”

“Downstairs converting the video.” Krem scrolled down on his phone. “They don’t have the monitor linked up - cheap security equipment. Anyway, he’ll send it to us shortly. At least I _think_ that’s what he means by _this._ ” Krem showed Bull the very short stream of various - seemingly random - emojis Grim had sent via text.

“Eh, if he can get it done I could care less how long it’ll take...” Bull grunted, flipping the pages to the report. “Though the faster he gets it done, the better…”

“So in other words, you _do in fact_ care.” Krem snorted.

“Alright, enough backtalk. What’s all this? Give me the summary, Krem. I’m not trying to read a novel here.”

Bull flipped through the five pages Krem just handed to him, skimming through the text as quickly as possible. It’s not like he wasn’t capable of reading the paperwork. He just found it off-putting.

Krem sighed and summarized the key points:

“Starting with the scene of the crime: First off, the door to the victim's hotel room - There were fingerprints on the door handle belonging to Florian Valmont and just about everyone else - _except_ for Nymeria Lavellan, Celene Valmont, and Clarisse Valmont.”

“So aside from those three, everyone visited Florian Valmont in his room before he was murdered; any one of them could’ve been the murderer. Matches up Ms. Lavellan’s claim that she was with the mother and daughter for lunch, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, Chief. The kitchen staff also vouched for them.” Krem pointed at the records in Bull's hands.

“So let’s go down the list of suspects who _did_ enter Florian Valmont’s room.”

“Right.” Krem cleared his throat and continued, as though he had actually remembered the entire six-page-long report in his head:

“According to the forensics report, seven different people came in and out of the Florian Valmonts’ room: Theodore Harimann asked Florian Valmont for a small loan to start up his investment in a new concert hall in the city, Melissandre Harimann was going to talk to Florian about their inheritance money and brought along her children Gaspard and Florianne, Reynaud Valmont was called in by Florian to help decide which pottery pieces were going up in their latest exhibition, Briala was called in to discuss something private, and Lady Mantillon frequently goes in and out of his room because she’s his personal assistant and does basically everything he asks of her.”

“All at different times this morning?”

“Yeah, they had a busy schedule since their flight was delayed. The auction was supposed to take place in the morning but they had to push it back to noon. Most of their guests started arriving at 11:30pm, but we’ve questioned all of them and none of them even saw Florian Valmont during their time at the hotel so we let them go. As soon as Grim uploads the security footage, we can validate their claims. Also, the entire floor to Florian Valmont’s suite was roped off, even to hotel staff.”

“So,” Bull tapped the ballpoint pen on the clipboard. “In order of who came into Florian’s room this morning - We have: Theodore Harimann at 9am; Melissandre Harimann and her children Gaspard and Florianne at 10:45am; Reynaud came and went several times this morning but the last time he claimed to have seen Florian was about around 11:00am; Briala at 11:30am, and lastly Lady Mantillon who discovered the body but also visited his room at several times.”

“The last time she saw him alive was at about 11:15am.” Krem checked his copy of the schedules. “According to the hotel staff, Florian Valmont was very strict about this floor of the hotel being completely reserved for their conference. So no hotel staff were allowed on the floor unless called on. There are unfortunately no recording allowed on this floor - per his request - because of some of his coveted art pieces haven't been uncovered to the public yet.”

“Damn rich Orlesians…” Bull muttered “Were a few pots and pans really worth all this effort?”

“Uh, I believe they're called  _ceramics_. I'm pretty sure if you knew how much his pieces go for on the market, you'd turn in your grave, sir.”

Bull grunted, shrugging. “It's just pots to me; they all look the same, just different colors slapped on top.”

“Just one of Florian Valmont's vases are worth triple our combine salaries, chief.” Krem added. “Almost anyone would kill for that.”

“Well, all I'm saying is Florian Valmont really screwed us by coveting his stupid pans. And now he's dead and we have no way of knowing who stabbed him in the chest.” Bull hummed, thinking aloud: “If only we had camera footage down this hallway, we’d be able to solve this with no problem. _Damn, and I was so excited because of the locked room!”_

“Well, that defense attorney kind of blew any thrill of deduction away, didn’t she?”

“Whatever. I would’ve figured it out eventually.” Bull muttered. “It was _obvious_ since the blood splattered _outside_ the suite door. He was _obviously_ stabbed with the door open, and the door closed because he wanted to get away from his killer. Plus, the fingerprints we lifted from the inside door handle, plus the blood stains, also agree with that theory.”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘ _Obvious’_. Right.”

“Don’t patronize me, Krem.” Bull grumbled, flipping the pages. “Anyway, if everyone went downstairs to the cafeteria, what did Florian Valmont eat if he didn’t join them?”

“He had all the food prepared by Reynaud so that he wouldn’t have to see the hotel staff walking around and taking photos of his rare antiques during the auction.”

“All this means is the last time anyone claimed to see him alive was 11:30, when Briala came to visit him last. But they could also be lying.”

“So Briala is still our first suspect in line.”

“Yep.”

There was still an exciting tingle on his fingertips as he flipped the pages.

Bull went through the notes, skimming aloud:

 

> **Nymeria Lavellan**
> 
> _Reporter from the Daily Herald Tribune. Not related to the Valmonts. Standing in for her roommate on behalf of the Skyhold Historical Society for art auction and donation. Was in cafeteria during murder. Not a viable suspect._

“Until I get that camera footage I’m not _entirely_ ruling her out, but she’s least likely to be the murderer.” He scribbled down next to Krem’s notes. “If we’ve got Nymeria Lavellan, Celene Valmont, and Clarisse Valmont on camera in the hotel dining room at the time of the murder, then that evidence proves their innocence.”

“Some hopeful thinking, chief?”

“Huh? What do you - why are you smirking like that?”

“Oh. I just thought you ruled Ms. Lavellan out because you were too busy staring at her ass as she walked out the room.”

“Hey!” He paused for a second, seemingly lost in thought, before replying with: “In my defense, it _was_ a nice one.”

Krem rolled his eyes and they continued down the suspect list:

 

> **Theodore “Theo” Harimann**
> 
> _Melissandre’s husband. Gaspard & Florianne’s father. Married into the Valmont family for money. Retired musician. _

“Retired at the age of 37?” Iron Bull snorted. “Seems more likely that he married into the family, thinking to be set for life with Florian Valmont’s money.”

“Exactly. It's a bit obvious, really. He’s trying to set up a concert hall in Skyhold City to increase revenue and gain fame for his music. Not my style though. It’s all a bit too ‘classical’ for me though.”

“Eh, I’m more into Rock’N’Roll myself.”

 

> **Melissandre Harimann (nee Valmont).**
> 
> _Clarisse and Florian’s sister. Theodore’s wife. Gaspard & Florianne’s mother. Shrewd and accusatory. Desires Valmont fortune. Hates Mantillon and suspects Florian had an adulterous affair with his assistant. Unemployed Aristocrat. _

“So she sits at home all day, playing house and gossiping.” Iron Bull nodded. “We should ask her more about Lady Mantillon and Florian Valmont, though I doubt it’ll help.”

“There you go, big guy. That’s the spirit.”

Bull rolled his eyes and continued:

 

> **Reynaud Valmont**
> 
> _Clarisse’s husband. Frequent victim of Florian’s bullying. Celene’s father. Timid and shy. Librarian and Book-keeper at The National Library of Orlais._

“I hear Florian treats Reynaud like a servant. Don’t know what beef they have. Maybe Florian didn’t think Reynaud was good enough for his sister Clarisse?”

“That doesn’t exactly rule him off our list.” Iron Bull said. “If anything, it gives him a stronger motive.”

 

> **Clarisse Valmont**
> 
> _De-facto leader of the Valmont family in case of Florian’s departure. Small gains from his will, but no money. Was in the cafeteria during time of murder. Not a viable suspect. Politician. Next in line for Orlesian Presidency._

“Presidency, huh?”

“Yes, and I hear that her campaign is gaining traction. It’s almost a sure thing that she’ll be the next President of Orlais.”

“Oh? Just how the heck do you know this, Krem?”

“Uh, well there's this thing in the break room at work called a _television_ and it broadcasts _the news?_ ”

Iron Bull shot him a dirty look.

“Anyway....”

 

> **Celene**
> 
> _Daughter of Reynaud and Clarisse. Recently engaged to Briala. Florian’s favorite niece because she looks similar to his deceased daughter, Evangeline. She gains his entire fortune in the case of his death. Was in cafeteria during murder. Not a viable suspect. Political Science student at The University of Orlais._

“Not likely.” Bull scratched through her name. “It wouldn’t make sense for her to kill Florian anyway. She was his favorite niece. Although...  she _is_ sole inheritor of all his finances, money, and estate.”

“Why would she kill her uncle for something she was going to obtain eventually anyway?”

“Uh, to get it faster?” Bull rose a brow.

“She’s barely an adult. She’s _just got engaged._ You think she’s busy scheming to kill her relatives? That makes no sense. If anything, her _relatives_ are more likely to kill _her._ Besides, why would she try to frame her own fiancee?”

“Maybe it has something to do with Briala’s past.”

“That may be likely, but we might have evidence of her with Nymeria and Clarisse at the time of the crime.”

 

> **Briala**
> 
> _Celene’s soon-to-be partner. Last name withheld. Recently engaged. No clear alibi. Was last seen with Florian. Her barrette was at the scene of the crime. Most suspicious on list. Has past history with the Valmonts that need further delving into._

“We need more answers. Briala’s the only logical suspect we have so far.” Bull muttered, drawing a circle around the name with his red pen.

“We’ll obviously need to further investigate her until we find hard proof of her guilt.” Krem folded his arms across his chest. “I have a feeling that ex-defense attorney won’t just let us convict Briala without airtight evidence.”

“As she should.” Bull replied, tapping the ballpoint pen on the clipboard. “We’re not doing our jobs correctly if we start dragging suspects off to jail willy-nilly.”

“I’m sorry, did you just use the term ‘willy-nilly’?”

Bull coughed.

 

> **Florianne Valmont**
> 
> _Daughter to Theodore and Melissandre. More vocal and opinionated, like her mother. Undeclared student at University of Orlais. Aristocrat._
> 
> **Gaspard Valmont**
> 
> _Son to Theodore and Melissandre. Well-versed and eloquent, but boastful and proud. Bachelors of the Arts in Photography. Professional Artist Photographer. Won several prizes and has his own exhibition coming up._
> 
> **Lady Mantillon**
> 
> _Valmont Family Assistant. Refuses to give full name. Very aware of family drama. Stands to gain little in Florian’s will. May or may not have had a intimate relationship with Florian Valmont._

Iron Bull exhaled deeply, scratching the back of his head...

 _So. There’s a stiff in the morgue downtown and a room full of crazy, dramatic Orlesian royalty next door. Oh, this is almost_ **_too_ ** _good._

To say that Iron Bull was enjoying this would've been a vast understatement:

He _loved_  solving murder cases like these. The harder the case was, the better. It made solving it all the more sweet.

Skinner and Dalish stepped aside to let him and Krem back into the conference room.

The Valmonts were already in a heated debate the moment he entered:

“ _What more proof do you need? Her barrette was sitting right there!_ ” Lady Mantillon slammed her hand on the conference table..

“That was probably placed there to frame her.” Nymeria replied calmly.

“Shut up, outsider! You have no business in our affairs!” Melissandre snapped. “Celene, ask that little harlot! Ask her what she was talking to your uncle Florian about!”

“Briala, what is she talking about?” There was a tiny tremble in Celene’s voice that suggested uncertainty and fear.

“If you don’t tell her, I will!” Melissandre sneered. “I heard it all when I walked past Florian’s door!”

 _Fucking Orlesians. Always with the gossiping and drama._ Bull rolled his eyes.

“What did you hear, ma’am?” He asked, trying hard not to show his impatience. “So you’re saying with certainty that you heard Florian’s voice at around 11:30 this morning? You can confirm that he was alive then?”

“Yes, but I left before they knew I was eavesdropping!” Melissandre exclaimed shrewdly, not at all calm. “But I _did_ hear Briala talking to Florian about her past! Celene, she’s not even who she claims to be! _She’s the daughter of those two knife-eared mongrels from the old mansion!_ ”

Nymeria shifted behind Iron Bull uncomfortably.

“She’s what?” Bull asked, brow raised.

_“Talen and Naya’s daughter!”_

“Seriously?”

“Is this true, mom? Mom?”

Briala seized up visibly as all eyes turned to her.

“You’re the daughter of… Talen and Naya?” Celene whispered, clasping her hands over her mouth. “Bri, is - is… this true?”

_Who ….?_

“Who are Talen and Naya?” Nymeria asked before Bull could get a single syllable out.

“Our servants in the old mansion when we lived in Ghislain.” Clarisse cleared her throat, hand outstretched to stop Melissandre from making a larger scene. “Talen and Naya worked at our home for years, along with many others. The two of them fell in love and eventually had a daughter. But before they were able to raise her, Florian had them fired and they died in a accident afterwards.”

“And just how did they die?” Bull asked, brows furrowed still.

“In a car accident the day they were asked to leave the Valmont Manor in Ghislain.” Briala explained bitterly. “I was barely a year old, and they sent me to an orphanage after I was dug out of the wreckage.”

“So Florian Valmont indirectly caused the death of your parents.” Iron Bull nodded.

“So the motive could’ve been revenge.” Krem muttered, looking pensive and stern.

“They were _fired_? But… But I thought Lady Mantillon had them leave because they found a better family to work for!”

“No, Celene. Lady Mantillon said that to you so that you wouldn’t find out about her affair.” Briala fumed quietly.

“So you _are_ the daughter of Talen and Naya!” Melissandre sneered. “You won’t deny it?”

“Yes, I am their daughter.” Briala admitted, not at all frightened. “It took me almost no time at all to find out where you moved after you left Ghislain. All I had to do was change my name and create an entirely fake identity to trick you all. It was too easy!”

 _Should I be expecting an evil cackle anytime now?_ Iron Bull felt disappointed that this case was ending so fast. _Damn, there_ **_really_ ** _was no thrill to this case? Maybe it was more 'open and shut' than I thought. I’ll have to find out where she stashed the murder weapon. That's always fun._

“So you snuck into the Valmont family under a false identity to gain access to Florian through Celene. Then you murdered him in cold blood to avenge your parents, whom he fired!” Florianne accused smugly.

“Florian Valmont only fired my parents because _she_ asked him to!” Briala snarled, pointing an accusing finger at Lady Mantillon. “ _You_ , Mantillon! _You_ are responsible for my parents’ death! You didn’t want anyone knowing about your secret so you had them fired! And on their way back to Jader, they died in that car accident!”

“You stupid, childish girl! You would blame me for a car accident after all these years? Did **_I_** drive the car that killed your parents? _No, I did not!_ You little fool!”

“My parents _died_ to keep _your_ ill-kept affair a secret! _You heartless bitch!_ ”

“That doesn’t even matter! Don’t lie and try to shift the blame!” Melissandre sneered. “You wanted the family fortune, didn’t you? _That’s_ why you seduced our Celene! _That’s_ why you changed your name! _You wanted revenge, didn’t you? You wanted to take everything away from us to make us miserable! And taking away Florian’s favorite niece was just the cherry on top, wasn’t it?”_

“Oh, Bri. How …? I can’t even begin to…”

“Celene, don’t listen to your aunt! She’s lying! She doesn’t know the whole story! It’s not true!”

“What are you talking about? I heard it all! I heard you admit to it! We all did!”

Both Gaspard and Florianne started yelling accusing words and hurtful remarks aimed at Briala before the latter rose to defend herself, firing back hotly:

“Am I the daughter of Talen and Naya? Yes. Did I murder Florian Valmont? _No!_ ”

“ _Your_ barrette was found at the scene of the crime! Explain _that!_ ” Gaspard laughed. “ _You_ were the last one with him while he was alive!”

“Well, _apparently_ _I wasn’t_ because after I left him - _while he was very much alive_ \-  he _was killed!_ ”

“Yes, by _you!_ ”

“No!” Briala glared at Melissandre and her family before turning to Iron Bull to explain: “Listen, officer: You can do a lie detection or whatever. I’m going to tell you right now that **I did not kill Florian Valmont.** I swear to it! Did I resent Florian Valmont and Lady Mantillon for firing my parents and inadvertently causing my mother and father’s death? Absolutely, I did. But that doesn’t-”

“She has a motive and the barrette we found is proof, officer!” Theodore accused. “Do your damned job! You need to lock her up immediately!”

“I don’t _need_ to lock anyone up until I find sufficient evidence of their guilt.” Iron Bull replied sternly. If there was anything he hated most, it was people telling him how to do his own job.

“What _more_ evidence do you need?” Theodore fumed.

“That’s not enough evidence to convict her.” Nymeria rolled her eyes. “Just because she has motive doesn’t mean Briala is guilty. By _that_ logic, you _all_ have viable motive.”

“But _her_ barrette was sitting in the blood at the scene of the crime, idiot!” Theodore argued.

“Someone could’ve easily placed it there to frame her.” Nymeria deflected.

“But at the same time, she _is_ highest on our list of suspects.” Krem whispered. “As soon as the media gets wind of this, the pressure will be on us. We need to at least have a lead on the case.”

Bull turned to Briala: “Did you or did you not want revenge?”

Briala’s hand hung low in shame as she answered quietly. “...Yes.”

“There you have it!” Melissandre gleefully sneered again.

“But I _didn’t_ _kill_ him _!”_ Briala pleaded. “Yes, I wanted revenge. I was going to ruin both Florian _and_ Mantillon’s lives _somehow_. But murdering them wasn’t my plan! I… I was going to find _some_ kind of evidence on them - some kind of evidence that suggested a slip-up on their part in order to, you know, smear the Valmont name forever or something. But then…” Her voice trailed off.

“But then… ?”

“But then I had a change of heart.” Briala quietly breathed, turning her gaze to Celene. “Celene, I changed my mind about it all. I was going to leave the past behind. For you! Please believe me!”

“I don’t … I don’t know if I can.” Celene, still shocked, was visibly tearing up.

“Oh, _how romantic_.” Florianne snorted, rolling her eyes.

Briala ignored her and continued to explain to Celene: “I was going to tell you everything tonight after the auction! But Florian found out first and started to threaten me with expulsion! Remember when I said I had something important to tell you?” Briala reminded her, eyes glazed.

 

> _“Is everything alright?” Celene asked, concerned. “You seem worried.”_
> 
> _“It’s nothing, Celene.”_
> 
> _“What did uncle Florian want with you?”_
> 
> _“It’s a long story,” Briala bit her lip. “I’ll tell you about it later tonight. I promise.”_

“I think we may need you to visit the station with us.” Iron Bull told Briala, nodding to Skinner and Rocky.

Briala swallowed visibly but remained surprisingly collected after a few seconds, even though she looked visibly worried and hurt.

“I understand, sir.” She said quietly, head hung low.

“We’ll take you downtown for further questioning.”

“She killed him! I just know it!” Melissandre glared. “All for the money! That witch was just using you, Celene!”

“ _Stop saying that! I didn’t!_ ” Briala turned to Celene swiftly, pleading: “I didn’t do it! _Celene, please believe me!_ ”

 _Okay, the heartfelt pleas are making my stomach twist. Is this some sort of badly-written romance novel?_ Iron Bull grimaced. _This is stupid. Did Briala do it or not? That’s all I care about. But I can’t have these people terrorizing her while I ask her questions. In the case where she's innocent, it's clear everyone blames her and someone may’ve already tried framing her with that barrette. They might even try to harm her._

Celene started crying uncontrollably as Skinner and Rocky took Briala away. Her face had turned red and her hands were shaking. Clarisse pulled an arm over her daughter's’ shoulders but it did little for comfort.

“ _Please! It wasn’t me!_ Celene, you _have to_ believe me! I’m not lying about how I feel for you!”

“I… I don’t… I don’t know what you believe!”

Celene, visibly heartbroken and confused, cried into her palms. Her mother pulled her close as Briala disappeared behind the elevator doors.

 _“Pull yourself together, Celene!”_ Lady Mantillon scolded. “You are to be the next-in-line for the family! Show no weakness! You will learn from this experience.”

“Now is not the time, _Adrienne_!” Clarisse hissed at Ms. Mantillon, glaring angrily for the first time.

“I … I think I need some air, mother.” Celene muttered softly between tiny gasps.

Iron Bull nodded and let the her pass. Clarisse followed, accompanying her daughter outside of the conference room.

“Mother, I’m fine. I just need to think.”

Celene’s eyes were swollen and she was on the verge of tears, trying to hold them in. The doors closed behind them and her words were drowned out by the thick glass.

* * *

“At least now we know the inheritance money won’t be split anymore than it already is.” Theodore muttered.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, dear,” Melissandre scoffed. “But apparently Celene’s getting all of it, including the estate.”

 _“What?”_ Theodore and their children exclaimed in unison.

Neither Lady Mantillon nor Nymeria seemed surprised. Reynaud Valmont didn’t seem interested in this news in the slightest. He was more concerned with the deep conversation Celene and Clarisse were embroiled in outside.

Theodore suddenly slammed his fist on the conference table, startling everyone. His face was a fiery red and his fingers curled up into a fist on the table. His necktie had come undone and the top two buttons to his dress shirt were unbuttoned. Traces of a black tribal tattoo were visible across his chest, along with a silver cross-shaped necklace.

“ _Damn it! After all this time? Then what was the point of marrying into his crazy family anyway?_ ” He snarled.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Melissandre snarled at him angrily. _“Are you saying you only married me for my money?”_

 **_Surprise, surprise._ ** Nymeria rolled her eyes.

“Of course!” Theodore laughed bitterly. “Why the hell else would I waste my best years with you, you old hag?”

_“‘Old hag’? How dare you!”_

“Did you think I married you for your personality, you stupid bitch?!” He laughed straight into her face!

“WHY YOU SECOND-RATE, WANNABE PUNK! YOU CALL YOURSELF A MUSICIAN? HA! GOOD LUCK GETTING FAMOUS WITHOUT MY HELP! THE GARAGE BAND MUSIC YOU MAKE SOUND LIKE POISON TO MY EARS!”

 **_Wow, this escalated quickly._ ** Nymeria thought.

As the volume of the arguing increased, Nymeria sought the opportunity to slip out of the conference room.

Outside, Clarisse had her arms wrapped around a sobbing Celene. Nymeria exchanged knowing looks with Clarisse before turning to doorway to Florian Valmont’s hotel suite. The dried blood puddle was still seeped into the carpet at the entrance.

 _They won’t be able to clean that up until the investigation is over._ Nymeria frowned. _Business won’t be too good up on this floor, I guess._

She felt a large, warm hand grip her shoulder tightly.

“And just where did you think you were going?” Iron Bull asked, his face serious and grave.

“Away from _there_.” Nymeria motioned her head towards the drama going on in the conference room.

“Yeah, it’s not too pretty.” Krem replied as he too walked out of the conference room. “But Dalish can keep it under control.”

“You have a officer named ‘Dalish’?” Nymeria shot him an apprehensive look.

“Her choice, not mine.”

The loud shouting between Melissandre and Theodore could be heard loudly as Reynaud Valmont also exited the conference room. Dalish gave Iron Bull and Krem a knowing nod as the conference room glass doors closed again.

“Talk about Thedas’ most dramatic family.” Nymeria huffed irritably as she watched the Harimann family’s heated argument.

“Tell me about it.” Iron Bull let out a deep breath.

“So you’re taking Briala downtown for interrogation?” Nymeria asked, notably concerned. “Is she under arrest?”

“Not yet. I have to take a closer look at the crime scene.” He motioned both Krem and Nymeria to follow him. “Come. Walk with us. I need you to relay the events of the morning to Krem while I examine things.”

She looked confused for a second, but tagged along anyway.

“Alright, fine.” Nymeria strolled down the hall with them, hands tucked behind her back.

The white outline where the corpse was found felt eerie and daunting. The entire scene looked like a movie set, Nymeria could hardly believe that a murder had happened before her eyes. But then she remembered the cold, lifeless eyes of Florian Valmont staring right back at her when she first saw the body.

Had she liked Florian during the brief time she got to know him? No. He was a bully and a racist. But he certainly didn’t deserve to be murdered.

“Hey, just make sure to stay outside, reporter.” Iron Bull broke through her thoughts, pulling her back into the present scene. “You’ll tamper with the scene walking around absent-mindedly in here.”

“Sorry, I - _Ow, what the!_ \- what the fuck is this?”

She stepped on something, hard.

It dug into her heel painfully, like a rock or pebble. Thankfully it wasn't sharp enough to draw blood from her.

When she lifted up her foot she found something dark and black among the darkened pool of blood.

“You find something?” Iron Bull’s shadow loomed over her and stood two times larger than his actual person, which was saying something considering he was the size of a behemoth.

“Maybe?”

Nymeria knelt down to take a closer look.

She quickly grabbed clean, cotton tissue from her back pocket and gingerly grabbed the strange black object lying on the floor around the dried puddle of blood. Because the blood had been so dark, forensics probably overlooked it.

“That’s odd.” She told them, thinking aloud.

“What is it?” Krem came over to inspect it with her.

“Some sort of small, black plastic.” She carefully turned the object over in her hands, making sure not to get fingerprint on it. “There are two pieces. Look, they fit together!”

“Yeah, Skinner mentioned finding something like that. Let me see that, rookie.” Iron Bull took the piece from her.

“‘Rookie’?” She almost laughed. “I’ll have you know I was somewhat well-known sleuth back in my hometown.”

“Chief, take a look at this.” Krem called them to the opposite side of the same puddle. He touched a clear, diluted chemical substance that sat in the middle of the semi-dried pool of blood beside them. When he pulled his fingers out, the tip of his gloved hand revealed a translucent substance.

“What is that?” Iron Bull frowned. “That’s not blood.”

“It smells like…” Nymeria neared to get a closer sense of smell.

“Hey, you. Step back. You’re tampering with evidence.” Bull reprimanded. “I thought I told you to stay out of the room.”

“Could it be cyanide?” Krem suggested. “It has a similar color.”

“You’ve been watching too many crime dramas, Krem.” Iron Bull snapped his gloves on. “Besides, the victim was killed with a stab wound. Why would there be cyanide?”

“It smells like Selenium.” Nymeria wrinkled her nose.

“Stay back from the room, newcomer.” Iron Bull was losing his patience. “Krem, stay with her outside the room.”

He inspected the clear splotch in the carpet.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s Selenium.” Nymeria repeated.

“What the fuck is Selenium and why do you know what it smells like?” Iron Bull cursed, shooting her a suspecting stare.

“Because it’s used to treat _Tinea Versicolor._ ” Nymeria told him quietly.

Krem shot her a look, amused and impressed, though Nymeria was sure Bull now had her at the very top of his suspects list. She gulped visibly.

“ _Tinea-_ what?” Iron Bull stared at her.

“ _Tinea Versicolor_.” Nymeria repeated. “My mother had it. It’s a condition of skin eruption that causes patchy discoloration and the falling of dry skin fragments.”

Krem nodded, his arms crossed against his chest. “Florian Valmont _did_ have eczema on near his face. Rocky said so when he examined the body pre-autopsy.”

“Right,” Iron Bull turned back to look at the strange discoloration on the floor again. “That explains it, I guess. Still a bit weird. And that black plastic thing is weird too. Whatever it is.”

“Could be nothing,” Krem shrugged, placing the black pieces of plastic in a plastic baggie and handing it to Dalish in the hallway. “I’ll have it sealed and sent to the lab anyway.”

“Good idea.” Iron Bull nodded. “Now, _you_ \- hot-shot-reporter - tell Krem the events of the morning in detail again. Just so we have all the details and to make sure we didn’t miss anything. _And stay away from the crime scene, alright?”_

“Yes, sir.” Nymeria held up her hands in surrender and nodded. She then walked out into the hallway with Krem, who had his notepad out again.

As she relayed the events of the morning chronologically to Iron Bull and Krem for the umpteenth time that day, she pulled out her phone and sent a quick text:

**—Nymeria 12:57 pm**

You won’t believe what happened here. I have a story you’ll definitely be interested in.

But the people involved are high-end. So it might cost you.

You interested?

It took Varric less than a minute to fire back:

**—Varric 12:58 pm**

Oh? And what story is that? Does this have to do with the Valmonts?

It better not be gossip. I’m not running _Orlesian Vogue_ here.

What makes you think I’ll buy anyway?

Considering the circumstances, Nymeria knew the Valmonts would want their story to stay under wraps. But a murder of the head of their family was entirely too big to cover up. If it wasn’t _The Daily Herald_ reporting about this, then another company would get the scoop instead, and probably get the details wrong.

Nymeria knew Varric would rather print the true story before anyone else.

**—Nymeria 12:59 pm**

Trust me. You’ll want to print this one.

 

**—Varric 1:00 pm**

Oh, yeah? Try me.

**—**

**Nymeria 1:00 pm**

Does the title, ‘Royal Murder at Herald’s Rest Plaza’ sound enticing enough to you?

 

**—Varric 1:01 pm**

Wait, what?

Are you serious?

Nymeria, seriously.

If this is a joke…

Murder isn’t funny, kid.

 

**—Nymeria 1:03 pm**

Who said I was laughing?

I’m dead serious.

She would've laughed at the pun if it weren't for, you know, Florian Valmont _actually_ _getting murdered._

**_“Reporting to your higher ups?”_ **

“Ah!” She jumped in surprise and almost dropped her phone.

She looked up and greeted Iron Bull’s broad figure with a apprehensive stare:

“As a matter of fact, yes I am.” She told him, rather aggressively. “Is that a problem, sir?”

“It’s not like there’s anything I could do about it even if I _did_ have a problem with it.” He replied, jaw tightening. “‘Freedom of speech’ and all. But you better be reporting everything you know about the case to us. Withholding evidence is a serious offense.”

“Of course.” Nymeria managed to refrain herself from rolling her eyes at him.

“Chief, the autopsy report came in just now, along with _this_.”

Krem handed Iron Bull a tablet with a bulky, black protective casing.

 _Are tablets issued in the police force bulletproof?_ She wondered suddenly.

 _Why would they be?_ She scowled at herself. _In a gunfight, tablets would be the_ **_last_ ** _thing the police try to protect. Unless the tablet in question had considerably valuable data on it, perhaps? No, that’s stupid. Ugh, scrap your wild story ideas for later, Nymeria. You’re just a hobbyist, not a fantasy author. For Maker’s sake, there’s a dead man in front of you!_

“So, _reporter_.” Iron Bull gave the tablet back to Krem.

Nymeria wished he would stop calling her ‘reporter’, but bit her lip from correcting him.

“Looks like snooping around and playing detective is your specialty.” Iron Bull stated in a matter-of-factly tone.

 _Calling me out, huh? I guess he’s not wrong. I_ **_have_ ** _been snooping around. Varric must be rubbing off on me._

“Well, you’d be surprised; being a defense attorney isn’t too far off from a detective.” She smirked.

“So then,” He paused for a few seconds, staring at her as if to study her for a sign of weakness. It was both nerve-racking and somewhat amusing.

“You any good?” He asked after a while.

“At what?” She raised a brow. “Snooping around? Playing detective? Or defending the innocent?”

“All of the above. You any good?” He repeated.

“Well, I received five accolades in my hometown before I moved here.” She pretended to look thoughtful. “So yeah, I’d say I’m pretty damn good.”

“Mind tagging along with us then?”

“Wha - Really?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding? I’m serious. But if you’re not interested ...”

“I am, but I - I’m still going to tell my boss about this story.” She reminded him. “You know that... right?”

“I could care less _what_ you tell your boss to print in his dumb magazine as long as you’re going to tell us the same facts you. _No withholding evidence._ **_Got it?_ ** ”

“Gotcha.” She smiled, unable to hide her delight.

“Alright then, let's get going, Nym.” He motioned her to follow him and Krem down the hall.

“Seriously?” She stopped in her tracks and rose a brow, arms folded across her chest.

“What?” He smirked at her for the first time. “You’re good. I just got you, Celene, and Clarisse on camera; all three of you were in the cafeteria when Florian Valmont was murdered. The autopsy report came in too and verified his time of death. You three are clean.”

“I meant ‘seriously, you’re going to call me ‘Nym’?” She shot him an incredulous look. “You don’t even know me.”

“Well, now’s as good a time as any to start.” He motioned her to follow them. “Come on, Ms. Small-Town-Hot-Shot-Ex-Defense-Attorney.”

“I never said I was a ‘hot-shot’.” She frowned, following them anyway.

“Five accolades and a bratty attitude isn’t helping your argument though.” He pointed out.

“ _Oh_ , _I’m sorry._ Was I bragging?” She feigned innocence, unable to hide her smirk.

“Come on hot-shot, you’re tagging along with me. With luck, I think I might find you useful. Krem’s getting rusty anyway.”

Krem rolled his eyes in response: “Look who’s talking.”

At that moment, Nymeria shot Iron Bull a serious stare as they walked down the halls:

“Well, if you want my help, I’m going to let you know right now that I suspect Briala is innocent. And as a defense attorney, I’m going to prove that I’m right.”

“I’m okay with that,” He replied.

“Good.”

“... as long as you understand that she’s my only reasonable suspect right now.”

“I can live with that.”

“She may not be guilty, but I need her for further questioning. She’ll be out of the station by Friday.”

“Unfortunately, the rest of the Valmont family is dead-set on her guilt.” Nymeria pointed her head towards the arguing family in the conference room. “And I think Celene would feel much better if she knew Briala wasn’t charged with the murder of her uncle for the sake of a family grudge. Briala seems to care for her immensely.”

“I’d argue that their relationship is a sham to begin with but I guess you're not getting paid to write down  _my_ opinions.” Bull shrugged. “We’ll be releasing the rest of the Valmont family for now. But I’m afraid they won’t be able to go anywhere outside of the hotel. I’ll have my men stationed here for the night to make sure the crime scene doesn’t get disrupted. Considering the gravity of the situation and the status of the family, I’m sure they’ll want more than the team I have here. I’ll have to call a backup team.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

She paused for a second before asking:

“Are you sure you want me helping? Melissandre and the others won’t like this.”

“The evidence is clear.” Bull told her. “If they have a problem, they’ll have to put up with it. Besides, it’ll just be a little help here and there. Nothing too big for your small-town mentality.”

 _Aaaaand now he’s patronizing me. Jackass._ She rolled her eyes.

“Besides, I’m hoping you have more to offer to follow up on that ‘Selenium’ fact you threw out there.” He told her.

“That’s me.” She replied cheerfully. “Nymeria Lavellan - Freelance Journalist and Reporter, Ex-Defense-Attorney, Braggy Know-It-All.”

“Come on, Lavellan.”

Bull smired, holding the glass door open for her and Krem. The arguing was still going on. The Valmonts barely noticed they had returned.

They sighed at the everlasting shouting happening inside the conference room. Celene was still crying with her parents comforting her. Clarisse shooed Lady Mantillon away from her heartbroken daughter when the latter tried to give Celene some ‘tough love’ and ‘advice’. Meanwhile, Gaspard and his sister Florianne had busied themselves with some other trivial argument about his photography.

“This is a shitshow.” Nymeria muttered.

“At least you’re here with us to enjoy it.” Bull sarcastically remarked.

“This is going to take a while to break up.” Krem huffed.

“So... do you always employ your suspects to help out in a case?” She asked them sardonically.

“Never. This is the first time.” Krem told her.

“I’m nothing special. So why me?” Nymeria turned to Bull.

“Don’t sell yourself short. There’s a reason why I asked for your help.”

“I guess I just assumed it’s because you’re at your wits end.”

“Wrong.” Iron Bull smiled. “I asked because I suspect you’re more than a reporter - or journalist - or ‘freelance whatever-it-is’ you call yourself.”

“Why? Because I knew _one_ usage for Selenium?” She snorted. “Or because I told you I used to be a defense attorney and you find that useful to have around when you accuse someone of a murder unreasonably?”

“There’s always more than meets the eye, Ms. Lavellan.”

“In this case, I’m doubtful.”

“Hey, that hurts my feelings.” He told her, feigning sadness. “You questioning our competence?”

“Well, let’s sum up what we’ve got thus far: You think Briala murdered Florian Valmont because you found an item belonging to her at the scene of the crime, even though there’s also counterpoints suggesting foul play, and now that you’ve uncovered a possible motive for her to murder him, you’ve taken her downtown for further questioning and won’t be releasing her for a while. Now if that’s all it takes to convict someone around here then I guarantee you I’ll be sure to write a whole five-page special on your ‘thoroughness’ in the papers, _Chief_.”

“Huh. _Interesting_ . Now I think _you’re_ the one selling _me_ short here.” He grinned, crossing his arms. “I never said Briala was the culprit. Shes just in our custody for questioning and her own protection. Dont you see how volatile this family is? Even if she's innocent, they might think of something to prove her guilt. Also, you seem to have a low expectation of the Skyhold Police Force, Ms. Lavellan.”

“Hmm, I’d say my feelings on the police force out here is neutral, if not doubtful of _actual_ progression. But it’s too early to tell. Why? Are you going prove me wrong?”

“Just ‘cause I _appear_ disinterested doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention.” He told her. “I’ll use you for example.”

“Me?” She looked at him dubiously.

“Yes, you. For example, I know you’re a Dalish First, in your mid thirties, and you came from the Free Marches, somewhere in the north.”

She looked at him with a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, intrigued. “Did you look up my information online while I wasn’t looking?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t need to. Your accent says you’re from the Free Marches, your tan - or lack thereof - suggests it’s somewhere in the North. I don’t know much about dalish culture but your tattoo and attitude suggests you obviously carry - or used to carry - a bit of weight in your community. But you’re still too young to be the leader, so I’d say if anything you’re in line to be the next Keeper. I’ve met a few Dalish Firsts. They carry a weight on their shoulders, and it shows. ”

She rolled her eyes. “ _Of course_ I’m Dalish. I mean, look at my face. But assuming I’m a First may be a leap too far. I _could_ just occupy a stressful job, ever think of that, _Mr. Detective?_ ”

“Was I wrong?” He rose a brow.

She let out a sigh. “Well, you’re not _technically_ wrong.” She shifted uncomfortably.

“So you don’t like being a First. I see.” He nodded as though he was coming to an understanding. “So you came to the city to _avoid_ your duties.”

“How could you _possibly_ know that?” She asked, scowling.

“Your profession, your mannerisms - they way you roll your eyes periodically suggests you’re an impatient person, but your swift reaction in dire situations suggests you’re used to serious situations so it makes you react more reasonably in the face of, say, murder. I'd say you have - or _had_ \- a lot of responsibilities.”

“Yes, _because I used to be an attorney._ ”

“Hey, I never said I knew _everything_ there is to know about you. Just some basic theories I brainstormed by watching you.”

_“Great.”_

Sarcasm was her go-to defensive measure. She didn’t know what else to do or say. Iron Bull’s nearly spot-on deduction of her past was a bit frightening. Was she _really_ that obvious?

“Look, you’re obviously somewhat good at -”

“‘ _Somewhat’_?” She laughed aloud.

He shot her a look. “Fine. _You were a hot-shot_ at being a defense attorney. So then why’d you quit? Was it because you were fired? No, because I’ve seen you periodically write to your current boss, which means you’re studious and a hard worker. You probably weren’t fired at all, but quit because of personal reasons, and came to the city.”

“You’re freaking me out a little.”

“You think _that’s_ frightening?” He let out a boisterous laugh. “I mean, did you _hear yourself_ talk about Selenium back there like it was nothing? I’d say that was more creepy.”

“Alright, alright. I concede. You’re a better detective than I thought.” She admitted, laughing. “Geez, you’re so serious!”

“He’s really not that serious.” Krem chuckled. “Or at least, he pretends not to be most of the time.”

“I see that.” She scratched her head. "So _you're_ the type of man who hates it when people tell him how to do his job or tell him that he's not good at his job. Kind of counter-intuitive to pretend you don't know anything though, isn't it?"

“Being aloof makes others feel more at ease.” Bull explained.

“While you subtly monitor their behavior?” She blinked sweetly.

“Hey, I’ve got to snoop around and look for clues without giving off the impression that I’m actually an attentive person.”

“Okay, okay. I get it: You’re pretty good at your job too.” She looked pleasantly surprised. “There. I’ve admitted it. Happy? I’m impressed.”

“I bet you are,” He turned to the rest of the Valmont family. “Now let’s get back to work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a little Sherlock-y at the end without realizing it. But I still liked this. Leave a review to let me know if it was too OOC!


	8. Political Quandaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull gets a little invasive, Celene is worried, and the Valmont family continues to bicker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was not aware of the full extent of Celene’s background until recently when I finally got around to reading The Masked Empire.
> 
> Since I’ve already written 7 chapters of this, I’m reluctant to change earlier chapters. In the original canon, Calienne de Ghislain killed Clarisse de Montfort. Reynaud (Clarisse’s husband and Celene’s father) killed Calienne in retaliation before succumbing to her poisoned blade, thus orphaning Celene to the throne at a young age.
> 
> In my story, things will (obviously) go a little differently. I hope you continue to enjoy!

**_ Herald’s Rest Plaza Hotel - Main Gardens, 3:45pm _ **

It had been almost two hours since they arrived at the hotel, and Iron Bull already needed a break.

He had been tirelessly speaking to the Valmont family, trying to resolve their family disputes until finally he had given up and demanded they each resign themselves to their own rooms. It was like grounding a group of misbehaving children, really.

His backup teams had arrived on the scene and security on SPD’s part had tripled. Still, the issue stood that they did not have solid evidence for Briala’s conviction, a fact Nymeria Lavellan had no qualms pointing out multiple times.

 _And_ there was the issue of the missing murder weapon.

It had only been two hours since Florian Valmont was killed. The murderer was _definitely_ one of his own kin, and they had not been allowed to leave the hotel since the body was discovered.

Therefore, having no murder weapon at the scene of the crime usually indicated one of two things: (1) the murderer hastily stashed it somewhere in this million-floor hotel and the police had yet to find it or (2) the murderer still had it on his person, which increases the likelihood that he or she planned to strike again. Bull was hoping for the latter. At least then there'd be one less Valmont yelling and screaming in his ears.

 _At least the rooftop garden is sweet._ He thought, looking out towards the skyline. There was finally some peace and quiet.

Krem was busy talking to Lavellan on the far side of the garden. They seemed to get along pretty well. Krem was probably keeping an eye on her for Bull ... or trying to get into her pants.

Bull’s coffee sat next to him on the bench. It had cooled off since Krem first fetched it for him, fresh from the pot courtesy of the hotel. He drank it black, no sugar or cream. Krem knew.

He sat under the shade in the corner of the garden, scrolling through articles on his tablet. His large hands could barely type on those tiny little smartphones, so he usually used the company tablet. His understanding of modern technology was, sadly, somewhat limited. But he only needed minimal efforts to use it for his job anyway.

‘Browsing the internet’ was putting things lightly. He was being nosy, and he knew it:

_nymeria lavellan |_

He pressed enter and the search engine did the rest.

Bull knew he shouldn’t delve into her public information and profile online like some crazy stalker. But he couldn't help himself. Curiosity got to him. She intrigued him. 

> _“... but we’re not completely ruling you out just yet, Mrs. Lavellan.”_
> 
> _"Actually, it's just Ms." She corrected, a slight blush flushing her cheeks._

He only did a thorough background test for the sake of clearing Nymeria's name.

He had to do it for all his suspects, really.

Yes, that was all there was to it.

Besides, he was a police officer. And not just _any_ police officer: He was the _Police Deputy Chief_. Who was more qualified to dig around in places they shouldn’t than he? It’s not like Bull ever cared for following rules to a tee anyways.

He could've badgered Lavellan, pestered and tricked her into slipping up so that she'd say something that he could twist into convicting her for the murder of Florian Valmont. That’s how they ran things in Seheron anyway.

 _He could've._ But Bull didn't do things like that.

Instead, he chose to search up her name and go through articles about her like some creep:

  * ****Dalish ‘Family’ Lavellan Laments Loss of its First****


  * ****Wycombe City Fire: Only 9 Survive****


  * **The Evanuris - Corrupt Elven Politicians Finally Locked Away**


  * **President Clarisse Valmont Chooses Her Daughter Celene As Would-Be Successor**


  * **Human-Elven Tension On The Rise: The Divine Weighs In**
  * **Wycome Elven Settlement Relocated to Southern Slums: Mixed Opinions**



_What the fuck am I doing?_ He thought.

Still, he tapped on the link, ‘ _Dalish ‘Family’ Lavellan Laments Loss of its First’_ , and started reading: 

> _Human-Elven relations are at an all-time low with the latest attack on a elven neighborhood in the town of Wycome. The unfortunate development is unquestionably derived from the sudden fire that erupted on Tuesday, which multiple sources agree was direct attack on the elven community, resulting in the deaths of over a hundred elven citizens living in the area. Only nine survived, four of whom have been severely hospitalized._
> 
> _Among the dead was a Dalish First (name withheld) from a well-known family, or ‘Clan’, known as the Lavellans. Their Keeper, Deshanna Istimaethoriel, was unwilling to discuss the incident, but commented that they will continue to mourn the loss in their community and welcome those who survived into their Clan with open arms._
> 
> _This chaos is irrevocably the result of the inner turmoil left behind when all members of the Evanuris, the Elven Rights Council, were condemned following the exposé regarding their political corruption, multiple accounts of bribery, as well as the death of one of their own members. While the Evanuris increased public awareness of elven brutality and corruption in the predominantly human judicial system, their inner turmoil led to seven guilty accounts of fraud and misconduct, all of which resulted in their incarceration at an undisclosed penitentiary._
> 
> _Although the scandal occurred six years ago, the elven community still laments its lack of unity today. Without guidance and leadership, elven families like the Lavellans continue to struggle against the prejudice and brutality placed upon them by their surrounding society since Arlathan was handed over to Tevinter a century ago._
> 
> _The Wycome fire was deemed an accidental incident, though many claim it as another malicious act of elven brutality, and urge both the Divine and Orlesian President Valmont to make a statement so events such as this one can be avoided in the future._
> 
> _Divine Justinia has yet to comment regarding the incident, and President Clarisse Valmont will be making a public speech on the situation this Tuesday._

_A fire, huh?_

If the original First for Clan Lavellan died, who was Nymeria of Clan Lavellan? A replacement? Searching for ‘Nymeria Lavellan’ didn’t result in anything past her studies in Haven Community College. It was almost as if she hadn’t existed prior to then.

 _The mystery deepens._ He sat back and frowned, thinking back to their earlier conversation:

 

> _“Nymeria.”_
> 
> _“Huh.” Iron Bull paused._
> 
> _“What?” Nymeria asked, slightly defensive._
> 
> _“That’s not a Dalish name, is it?”_
> 
> _“No, it isn’t.” Nymeria replied, blinking._

He had somehow convinced himself that his stalking of Nymeria Lavellan was completely justified. That somehow, looking her up online was a good way to vet her before asking her to accompany his team to solve this case. 

But he had only  _just_ met her hours ago. Yet already he wanted to know more about her. And what better way to get to know Nymeria better than to offer the eager journalist a inside scoop of the crime scene? 

His intrigue with mystery and problem-solving went hand-in-hand, really. Thus the completely fitting occupation of Deputy Chief of Police.

Really he was just a glorified detective who got paid more than the rest.

_Interesting...._

He scrolled through a few more articles about the Lavellan clan, though most of them really retold the same story in a slightly different word order.

Nymeria had her own secrets; Bull could tell. Something about that fascinated him. But also irked him to no end.

It’s not like Bull could arrest her; being quiet wasn’t a crime, unless she was withholding information that pertained to the case. Did she harbor a dark secret behind those shimmering green eyes? If so, what was she hiding?

It was his own fault, really. He should've allowed Nymeria to go once her alibi was cleared up. But then he came up with the clever idea of using her instead.

While there was  _definitely_ more to Nymeria Lavellan than meets the eye, Bull couldn't deny that she was astute and seemed to have insider-knowledge of courtroom politics, something Bull desperately needed help with - especially since he had lost Gatt. 

_Did I jump the gun too fast? Nah, I’ll still go with my gut. My instincts have never failed me… yet._

Yes, Nymeria could also provide him legal council, as the Valmonts weren't exactly common people. They were practically royalty in Orlais and one wrong turn for Bull may just cost him his job.

Had he been too hopeful to think that this woman could replace Gatt? Yes, she had impressed him by figuring out that Briala may’ve been framed (although he would’ve come to the same conclusion himself eventually), but her secrecy had him doubting his decisions. 

 _Pfft, come on. It’s not like you’re the best judge of character._ He told himself. _You trusted Gatt to have your back for 5 years and in the end he stabbed you in the back._

Sighing audibly, he closed the tablet in his hand and stashed it in his pocket. (One good thing about Qunari-sized trousers: you could fit a whole sack of potatoes in the pockets.)

“What’s got you down, big guy?” Krem called out.

“None of your business.” Bull replied, standing from the bench.

“You’re awfully defensive,” Lavellan smirked, hands behind her back. “What were you looking up on that tablet, hm?”

“Porn, probably.” Krem laughed.

Bull shot him an incredulous look. “What I look up online in my spare time is private, Krem.”

“Too much information aside,” Nymeria cleared her throat. “What are you going to do now? There’s no murder weapon and Briala’s the only viable suspect, but you’ve got next to nothing on her. A barrette at the scene of the crime from a person who has a proven alibi _won’t_ hold up in court.”

“Oh, you think I’m not aware of that?” Bull replied irritably. He didn’t mean to snap at her, but it came out a little more aggressive than he intended. He was just on edge; he didn’t like people holding secrets from him and to top it off this case was getting colder by the second. The Valmonts were a stubborn family.

“I’m just trying to help you,” Nymeria glared. “You asked me to help with the legalities, didn’t you? Isn’t that why I’m still here?”

“It is.” Bull breathed to calm himself. “Sorry. I’m just a little on edge. Something tells me foul-play is in effect. And I don’t know what it is, but that Adrienne Mantillon woman really irks me.”

“She _does_ have a punchable face.” Nymeria smirked, and Bull let out a hearty laugh.

“We need to look for that weapon.” Krem crossed his arms. “Our backup team is in the midst of searching the floor. It _has_ to be in the hotel.”

“Or on the murderer.” Nymeria shrugged as they started walking out of the gardens.

“We’ve already searched the Valmonts individually, and their rooms are being searched as we speak.”

“If we don’t find enough evidence, who knows what those damn Orlesians will do.” Bull grumbled, his face scrunched into a serious, frustrated frown. “They’re dead-set on having Briala hauled to prison, no matter what.”

“You have a good point. I’ve no doubt they’ll find a powerful prosecutor to make sure Briala’s fighting chance is over.” Nymeria grimaced. “The Valmont family _is_ very close to Madame de fer, I hear…”

Krem glanced at her nervously.

“That still doesn’t change the fact that they have nothing on Briala. Nothing substantial enough to convict her. We may not have evidence to prove her innocence, but they don’t have anything to prove her guilt either.” She reassured, though she was worried herself. “‘Guilty until proven otherwise’ and all, am I right? Vivienne de fer is a ruthless, but rational woman. She will not fund a case unless she knows there’s a winning chance.”

“Unfortunately, I wouldn’t put it past the Valmonts to try and frame Briala.” Krem crossed his arms again.

“Vivienne de Fer will help them if knows she’ll have a high chance of gaining favor in the Orlesian senate."

"She’s already got Senator de Ghislain eating out of the palm of her hand. I’d say she’s got all the political favor she’ll need."

"Still, if there’s substantial evidence in the Valmont family’s favor, she would most definitely oblige to help them find the best prosecutor for their case.”

“Are you suggesting they’ll try to rig the trial?”

“They might.” Nymeria shrugged. “That’s just how the game is played in Orlais…”

Bull did _not_ like the sound of that at all. _This_ was why he hated working with rich people. They used money in the most disgusting ways. Especially Orlesians.

“So we’re fucked?”

“Not necessarily. I mean, a _good_ attorney definitely could make a strong case for Briala’s defense. Granted we have substantial evidence. ”

“‘A good attorney’? Are you referring to yourself?” Iron Bull rose a brow.

She shook her head. “I gave up my attorney's badge. But that doesn’t mean I have connections and friends at my old firm. If you’re going to convict her of anything, you’d best take my - ”

“Hold on, firecracker. I’m not your enemy here. I’m just trying to do my job.”

“I’m sorry, did you just call me ‘firecracker’?”

He ignored her amused smirk and continued:

“Let’s just find what evidence we can, okay? We’ll have to pull our heads together if you want Briala to walk free. Once we find - **_oomph, what the_ ** _-_ **_Celene_ ** _!_ ”

_Iron Bull almost knocked the tiny Orlesian woman off the balcony!_

“Sorry, didn’t see you there. You hurt?” He asked, somewhat embarrassed.

“No, no. I am fine. Thank you.” She curtsied to him, though her face hung low and she was staring down at the ground as she turned back to the view of the large city.

Celene was leaning against the railing to the balcony garden. Her makeup was still pristine, rich, and creamy. But her eyes were slightly swollen and she had a handkerchief gripped tightly in her gloved fist.

“Are you alright?” Nymeria placed a hand on Celene’s shoulder.

“I am, I am!” Celene used her handkerchief to wipe away at her face. Her makeup remained unsmudged, and her face looked flawless as ever. She sniffled.

“I apologize. I was just thinking. Don’t mind me. Oh, this is rather unbecoming of a lady, isn’t it?”

“You just lost someone important to you, and your fiancee has been taken into police custody. You’ve plenty of grounds to be upset.” Nymeria consoled.

“I just… I can’t believe Bria did this. I can’t believe I trusted her!”

“What, you think she is responsible?” Nymeria blinked. “What makes you think that?”

“I do not know who is responsible for my uncle’s murder.” Celene shook her head, sniffling. “But she lied! She lied to me! How can I trust her after that? How can I trust anyone? Did Briala really mean all those things she said?”

“You can ask her when she comes back.” Krem reminded. “We’re not taking her to prison; it’s just a hour of standard questioning. She’s not in perjury. Cheer up!”

“I apologize. I do not mean to burden you with the troubles of a scorned lover. It is all rather trivial and melodramatic. Mother would be appalled if she found me like this in public.”

“You’re a human being, Celene. You’re allowed to have feelings.”

“In my line of profession, it is unwise to show feelings.” Celene looked down at her handkerchief, thumbing over the letters embroidered on the cloth. “I just don’t know what to believe anymore. I mean, did she truly mean what she said? Were her feelings genuine? Or was this all just a ploy to get close to my uncle and Lady Mantillon? Was it all for revenge? I just don’t believe that it all meant nothing to her...”

“Those are questions only she can answer.” Nymeria looked down sadly. It’s not like she could speak for Briala. Celene and her lover would have to talk things out properly. There was still a chance they could come out of this unscathed.

“If you love her, then have faith in the Maker’s will and believe that she will come back to tell you.” Krem said quietly.

Celene stared at Krem for a second, astonished at his directness, before nodding.

“You’re right.” She quickly composed herself upright before adding: “I apologize for taking away your time with my nonsensical doubts.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for. Just be strong, and have faith in what you believe is right. If you think she is innocent, do your best to prove it. Be strong.”

“You’re absolutely right; I need to steel my heart.” Celene breathed deeply. “It will be unbecoming for both a lady and a politician to openly weep at every sign of difficulty. If I want to take mother’s place int eh coming years, I must learn to mask my grievances. Thank you.”

Again, Celene curtsied to them, and began to leave the gardens to rejoin her family inside the hotel. Her face regained some color as she prepared to don her regal mask of elegance and formality.

“I wasn’t aware you were the sappy sort, Krem Brulee.” Bull nudged him as they followed.

“Shut up.”

Just then, the walkie-talkie clipped to Bull’s belt buzzed loudly:

**_“Chief? This is dispatch Unit A. We’ve got a crowd. Mostly reporters. They want to know details on the Valmont Murder. The pressure is being laid on pretty thick. What is the status of the situation?”_ **

“Ah, shit.” Bull groaned, picking it up and putting it to his mouth. He motioned Krem with his free hand to escort Celene towards the glass doors. **_“Tell the public that the case is still ‘under investigation’. Do not - I repeat - do not state anyone’s names. Got that?”_**

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. Then the walkie-talkie clicked again:

**_“Yes, chief.”_ **

“Damn.” He clipped it back onto his belt and moved closer to Celene, his arms around her shoulders to protect her from the reporters that were emerging in front of the doors. “Here they come. You ready?”

Celene nodded, and remained silent.

_Public media pressure was on. They needed the resolve this before things got too complicated._

Together, they walked through the glass doors. Celene remained surprisingly unperturbed during the entire thing. Nymeria was sandwiched between Iron Bull and Krem. Thankfully, Bull’s huge physique helped block out most of the cameras. She wasn’t fond of having her photo taken. Especially since some of her clan members might see her on TV and ask questions.

The reporters were already hastily firing question after question for Celene to answer:

**“IS IT TRUE? FLORIAN VALMONT HAS BEEN MURDERED? PLEASE EXPLAIN!”**

**“MS. VALMONT, IS THIS CASE IN ANY WAY RELATED TO THE DEATH OF CALIENNE DE GHISLAIN LAST SUMMER? WHAT DOES YOUR MOTHER HAVE TO SAY ON THIS MATTER? IS THIS ANOTHER ONE OF CLARISSE DE MONTFORT’S COVER-UPS?”**

**“MA’AM, ARE THE RUMORS OF YOUR ENGAGEMENT TO A ELVEN WOMAN TRUE?”**

**“MS. VALMONT, IF THIS IS ANOTHER VALMONT FAMILY SCANDAL, HOW WILL THIS FARE IN YOUR MOTHER’S POLITICAL TERM AND YOUR OWN FUTURE?”**

“I have no wish to discuss my family's private affairs, thank you.” Celene replied icily, shoving the microphone away from her face.

**“YOUR MOTHER HAS BEEN WORKING HARD TO SUSTAIN YOUR POSITION AS A REPRESENTATIVE IN THE ORLESIAN SENATE. SHE WANTS YOU TO SUCCEED HER AS PRESIDENT. IS THIS TRUE?”**

**“HOW WILL THIS AFFECT HER CAMPAIGN AND IS IT TRUE YOUR UNCLE AND HIS MISTRESS PLAN ON GIVING YOU THEIR ENTIRE FORTUNE? MS. VALMONT? MS. VALMONT!”**

**“MS. VALMONT, WOULD YOU LIKE TO MAKE A STATEMENT ABOUT THE-”**

“Vultures, the lot of ‘em.” Bull muttered, a irritated twinkle in his eyes as he brushed the reporters aside. _“Move along, people. Come on.”_

His bulky size compared to the rest was enough to make a safe passageway for the rest of them. Krem followed in the back while Bull swam across the flood of reporters with their cameras and microphones in the front. Nymeria grabbed Celene by the arm and together they made their way into the main halls of the hotel, where Skinner and Dalish promptly locked the doors the moment they made it through.

“Celene!” Clarisse pulled her daughter towards her. “Are you alright? What did they ask?”

“Questions regarding the case. Don’t worry, mother. I said nothing.”

“What of the election?”

“Everything is fine, darling. The current numbers suggest you will be able to stay for another term before giving the Presidential seat to Celene.” Reynaud nodded, covering his daughter up in his suit jacket.

“But surely we will have to discuss what to say when we arrive back home.” Gaspard remarked in disdain. “The Senate will hound us if we don’t. Besides, it will be unbecoming to have them remain undisclosed of the details when Florian was such an integral member of the Council. They’ll have to find a replacement.”

“It is _also_ unbecoming to discuss private family issues with intrusive media vultures.” Lady Mantillon cleared her throat behind them. “We will discuss the details with our Senate when we go home. Until then, I suggest we stay clear of the media, and stop talking about it until we are in a more ... _private_ setting.”

“You won’t be able to leave until we decide we’ve cleared you of all suspicion.” Bull rolled his eyes irritably. Well, just the one eye, really.

“I am aware.” Lady Mantillon turned her nose at him indignantly, as if the thought of a Qunari speaking to her was appalling in and of itself.

Nymeria felt a familiar rage stirring within her.

“What about your presidency?” Celene asked Clarisse. “Mother, we’ve tried so hard. You’ve only one more year to secure before possibility for your re-election terminates.”

“Don’t worry, Celene. I’ve already arranged for everything accordingly. Florian’s departure was… unfortunate. But the polls are in and it seems I will indeed be in Val Royeaux for one more year. After that, everything will fall to you, my dear.”

 _Really?_ **_This_ ** _is her primary concern right now? The Orlesian Presidency? What about Briala? Wasn’t she_ **_just_ ** _crying about it outside in the garden?_ Nymeria frowned. _It’s like she’s a different person all of a sudden. Creators, I will never understand politics._

“You’ve come so far, Celene. I am so proud of you.” Lady Mantillon smiled.

“Hush, Adrienne. You’re still not out of the boiling pot yet, dear.” Clarisse cleared her throat. “Don’t forget that _you_ were the one who caused Briala’s parents to die in that accident in the first place! If the girl is indeed responsible for Florian’s murder, then you are also indirectly responsible!”

“How dare you, Clarisse! I did it to serve _our_ family! What about Calienne, hm? _You’re_ the one who - ”

“Both of you, stop bickering!” Celene demanded. “I’m not… I don’t believe this is the time or place to discuss such things. Besides, with Uncle Florian gone, the Senate will want to have a male equivalent in the seating beside me when I take over. _That_ is more important if you’re to really discuss the effects of this debacle.”

“Are you proposing marriage, Celene? But to whom?”

“How about Michel de Chevin?”

“He is my bodyguard, mother. Hardly suitor material in the eyes of the Senate.”

“But he comes from a noble background, doesn’t he?”

“That’s debatable.” Celene shifted. “Nevertheless, lacking a husband will undoubtedly drop my approval rates from the populace. Perhaps I should take Gaspard up on his offer? He _does_ sway the populace more than I. No, that would be absurd. I’ve done so much without the presence of a husband; I’m not about to start now.”

Nymeria turned her nose up in disgust.

“Marry Gaspard? Why would you even consider - _he’s your cousin!_ ”

“Actually, it’s a bit more complicated than that.” Clarisse wrinkled her nose. “He’s a distant cousin, more aptly put. Our family tree is rather… tangled. In Orlais _some_ leniency exists for special situations regarding marriage between cousins.”

“This doesn’t concern you, slant-ear.” Lady Mantillon spat.

 _“Excuse me?”_ Nymeria’s eyes narrowed darkly.

“Adrienne, stop it.” Clarisse frowned.

Before an argument - or fight - broke loose, Iron Bull stepped up and cleared his throat.

 _“Everyone needs to be back in the conference room. Now.”_ He commanded loudly.

He didn’t care that Lady Mantillon was not spouting racist remarks about him _._ He didn’t care the Nymeria was scowling. He didn’t care about the Valmonts’ protests against spending more time in that damned conference room again.

_All he wanted was some peace and quiet for Five. Fucking. Minutes._

He was about to tell the Valmonts to shut up when he felt a light tap on his arm and looked down.

_Rocky._

“Murder weapon.” The dwarf said gruffly. “We think we’ve got a lead on it.”

“You _what_?” He felt his heart-rate quicken.

“I’m missing one of woodworking knives.” Reynaud stood at the doorway of his room nervously, waving his hand to beckon Bull into his suite. “I usually handle them with care and have them polished after each use. I remember having them last night, but it seems one is missing.”

 _Oh yeah._ He could barely stop grinning to himself.

_This was going to be good._


	9. She Sleeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull investigates newfound evidence and Nymeria helps him decode a difficult password.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter mostly written up already because it was supposed to be in the last chapter. But it got too long so I cut it into two.

**Herald’s Rest Plaza Hotel - Reynaud & Clarisse Valmont’s Suite, 4:34pm**

Bull entered the well-kept suite and neared the intricate case laying on couch. It was currently being inspected by his men. They had snapped on their gloves and were in the process of applying luminol to the area.

Bull let out an impressed whistle: Reynaud Valmont was either a very dedicated woodworker or a very intense hobbyist.

The suitcase laying on the couch was a top-of-the-line, fine, authentic druffalo leather case with gold trim and hand-stitched lettering on the side. It held a total of seven long, sharpened carving knives. Each blade had been polished until they glittered on both sides, and intensely whetted to cut wood like butter. There was a slot in the case for every knife shape, complete with latches to hold them in place and a professional handheld sharpener.

There was an empty indention where one of the knives missing.

Bull inspected the empty slot carefully:

_Iron-reinforced wooden handle. Red oak. Approximately four inches long by one inch wide. Sharp edge. Similar in shape to a kitchen knife._

Matches the approximate size of the wound found on Florian Valmont's corpse.

Bull took the opportunity to look around the suite. It didn’t look any different from the others.

_Beige curtains. Ivory couch and chairs. Red carpet. All clean. Clothes hung neatly in the closet. Probably Clarisse and Reynaud’s clothes. Marble countertop. Unused kitchen appliances. Spotless sink. Walk-in bathroom. Two towels used. No shampoo or conditioner left. Half a bar of soap sitting near tub._

There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary. But then again, Bull always reserved room for even the slightest possibility of guilt. He had to keep an eye open at all times. If nothing else, the Qun at least taught him that before he became an outlaw.

“Hey, Bull?”

Nymeria’s head poked out from the doorway.

“What is it?” He turned and his eye caught a glimmer on the table beside her near the doorway.

_A photo on the table of the Valmont family. There’s a unrecognized woman in the large family portrait._

“Who’s this?” He asked Reynaud, pointing to the stern brunette woman standing next to Gaspard in the center of the photo. She wore a lavish dress with diamonds and rhinestones in her hair.

“That’s Calienne de Ghislain. Gaspard’s late wife.” Reynaud said in a quiet whisper before disappearing through the doors with Rocky.

“Who?” Nymeria shot Bull a inquisitive stare.

“Dunno, but I’m about to find out.” He pulled out his tablet again. This hadn’t been the first time they heard that name before. The reporters outside also mentioned something about her.

_I should really pay more attention to Orlesian politics, apparently._

He started a simple search once the browser loaded:

_calienne clarisse de montfort |_

The first article listed explained it all:

> **BREAKING NEWS! Clarisse de Montfort responsible for Calienne de Ghislain’s death!**
> 
> _Calienne de Ghislain, wife of well-known photographer Gaspard de Chalons, was critically injured earlier last week in an unfortunate car accident along Gamordan Peaks. She was on her way to attend her husband’s gallery opening in Lydes._
> 
> _Calienne, 30, was hit when another vehicle pulled too quickly around the corner of the mountain road. Reports say her smartcar flipped over three times before coming to a halt. The vehicle that collided with Lady Calienne skidded against the road before breaking through the metal railing and exploded on impact when it fell down the mountain._
> 
> _The Orlesian Police Force have now identified the man, who was on his phone while driving, as Jean-Gaspard de Lydes. De Lydes was a candidate for the vacancy in the Orlesian Council._
> 
> _According to phone records, the last person whom he contacted had been Clarisse de Montfort, who is currently in the lead for the Orlesian Presidential Election._
> 
> _Although there is no contender against Clarisse de Montforts’ inevitable presidency, de Lydes’ guaranteed seat in the Orlesian Council was a definite detriment to her upcoming term as President of Orlais, especially if she plans to give her seat to her daughter, Celene Valmont, who turns sixteen next week._
> 
> _Clarisse de Montfort has not offered any rebuttal for the accusation of many angry Lydian citizens for what they believe are manipulative actions. Being the last to speak to de Lydes before his untimely death, many suspect foul play was involved to rid the Valmont family of two threats as Clarisse the Montfort needs to gain favor with the Orlesian Council and has publicly stated her distaste for her nephew’s wife Calienne numerous times._
> 
> _Unfortunately, this revelation comes too late as Lady Calienne de Ghislain sadly passed away Tuesday, after spending three days in a coma at the Verchiel City Hospital Center._
> 
> _An extensive investigation is underway for the incident._

_Could this incident tie-in with the murder?_

“Interesting.” Nymeria looked lost in thought.

“Anyway,” Bull stashed his tablet back in his pocket again. “Did you need me?”

“Oh, yes! Krem needs you in Florian’s room. We made a discovery you might want to see.”

“ _‘We’_?” Bull frowned. “I thought I told you to stay away from the crime scene! What are you doing in here anyway?”

She crossed her arms and scowled. “I didn’t even go in! I spotted it last time we were in Florian’s room and Krem told me to get you immediately!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He huffed, following her down the hall.

Krem, Grim, and Skinner were in Florian Valmont’s room. The luminol results were in and there was no other indication of blood anywhere else in the room other than the obvious areas.

“What’s going on?” Bull asked, trying to sound less irritated than he already was.

“Suitcase. Florian’s. Found it tucked under his bed. Can’t open it though.”

Krem lifted the heavy black case up and set it on the coffee table. It was made of pure black veil quartz and lined with silverite edges and latches. There were a few scratches on the side, but it was otherwise well-made and in pristine condition. In the center of the latches was a tiny touchscreen for fingerprint recognition and a eight-digit passcode.

“Damn it, when was this discovered?”

“First time we came in here. When we found the Selenium.” Krem reported.

“Why wasn’t I alerted of this then?”

“We were going to tell you, but Grim wanted to make sure it was safe so he took it to the hotel basement.” Skinner replied. “You know, just in case. Because after the explosive _last time_ , we didn’t want to take any chances.”

“I would’ve been fine…” Bull grumbled.

“If you fancy keeping your other eye, you’d disagree.” Krem muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, chief.” Krem cleared his throat. “Anyway, suitcase is safe.”

Bull turned back to the touch screen lock on the suitcase.

_We need to open this. It may give us useful information. It might even be the reason Florian was murdered in the first place._

“Do we have the passcode for this? It’s locked, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Rocky nodded. “We’ve got the fingerprint off the stiff, but there’s a passcode. Grim tried to get into it but you can only try three times before the case locks and needs to be reset by Florian’s secretary, who I guess would be Lady Mantillon.”

Bull groaned, craning his neck and grimacing. “And _of course_ she’d never let us go through his personal belongings without putting up a fight...”

“Yes, sir.” Rocky nodded again. “And another thing - Grim hooked it up to his laptop and tried to decrypt the password twice, and failed both times.”

“Meaning?”

“There’s only one try left before it’ll need to be rest, chief.”

_Fuck._

“What kind of lock is it?” Nymeria wondered aloud. “Maybe we can unlock it with a hairpin?”

“It’s not that kind of lock.” Bull snorted, inspecting the briefcase. “It needs a eight-letter passcode, looks like alphabetical values.”

“Oooh, that’s hard to crack.” Nymeria frowned, hand under her chin.

“ _Hard?_ I’d say it’s _impossible_.” Bull shook his head. “How many possibilities is that, Grim? Hm?”

Grim held out two fingers.”

“Two million?”

Grim shook his head and then typed something on his phone before holding it up to show them:

_26^8 |_

“Nearly _two hundred billion_ possibilities.” Nymeria informed.

“Damn,” Bull sighed. “Krem, go grab some hardware so we can open this thing up. Maybe we can hammer or saw it open.”

“Is that really such a wise decision?” Nymeria asked. “That thing’s state-of-the art. Breaking veil quartz is practically impossible. You’d need some sort of welding torch to even make a dent in it...”

Grim nodded behind her.

“Is there anything Florian left that might provide a clue?” She suggested. “He’s was, what? In his late sixties? Seventies? He may’ve written something done to help him remember.”

“His medical records _did_ indicate that he was beginning to suffer from dementia.” Krem reported, going through the papers on his clipboard.

“Alright then, let’s be on the lookout.” Bull clapped his hands to alert his crew in the large suite. “Listen up, boys! We’re looking for anything that might help open this case! Florian Valmont may’ve written something down, like a clue or something!”

“Did you want me to help?” Nymeria asked him. “Or should I leave?”

“No, you stay here.” Bull’s eyes narrowed.

“Should I look through his desk or something?”

“I think Krem’s got it under control.’ Bull motioned with his hand.

“Why are you so interested in opening his damned briefcase anyway? For all you know, Florian’s just a anxious and secretive by nature.” Nymeria gestured around them. “I mean, _clearly_ he favors privacy; he’s in a suite by himself and has this _entire_ _floor_ of the hotel booked for his _seven_ family members.”

“This has nothing to do with Florian Valmont. I have no feelings about the guy.” Bull tilted his head towards the case sitting on the couch. “That briefcase is clearly locked with top-of-the-line security for a reason. I want to know why. It might help with the case. You never know.”

“This may be a wild goose chase.” She reminded him.

“Well, I have nothing else to go on so far…” He admitted, exasperated.

“That _is_ true.” She nodded. “Can’t say I would be doing things any differently.”

He cocked a brow. “You’ve done investigations before?” He crossed his arms and looked at her, amused. “What kind of lawyer were you exactly, Ms. Lavellan?”

“Uh, the investigative kind?” She shot him an reprehensive look. “I didn’t just sit on my ass all day and conjure up facts out of nowhere. I needed to investigate the truth to prepare for a case. The cross-examination can be very thrilling, but also extremely nerve-wracking and intense. I need to know that one hundred percent of what I’m saying is the truth in the courtroom. No slip-ups, no wrong words.”

It almost sounded like she was trying to compare the seriousness of her previous job with his.

Bull was about to reply when Krem yelled for him across the room:

“Chief! I’ve got something!”

“Yeah?”

Bull made his way towards Florian’s desk. There was a fancy desktop computer on the table, courtesy of the hotel. The ‘INQUISITION’ Enterprise logo was etched in large silver letters on the frame of the monitor but the computer looked untouched.

Obviously, Florian wasn’t a man who liked using technology, which seemed ironic given how his suitcase featured technology that was extremely advanced. Instead, the old man had used the desk to lay all his suits and ties on.

Currently, however, it was being used by the police to hold all items of importance that had been found on Florian Valmonts’ body.

Krem had opened one of the plastic bags that held Florian’s personal effects and handed Bull a tiny pocket notebook. It was made of maroon-tinted bear hide, and the pages were sewn together by hand. There was a black ribbon glued to the back cover as a way of marking the pages.

“I thought it was gibberish when we first got it, but now I think it might be a clue.” Krem said. “Too bad most of it is in Orlesian.”

Bull flipped to the page the bookmark was on and squinted.

“Looks like gibberish to me,” Krem shrugged. “But I’m not good that decoding stuff like that.”

“What _are_ you good at again?” Bull teased, laughing.

Krem smirked. “You’re laughing. Are your spirits back up already? Does this mean you know how to decipher the code?”

“Maybe?” Iron Bull looked at the seemingly random notes written hastily by the late Valmont family head. “Give me a few minutes.”

Bull took a seat on the couch in the suite while Krem and the others continued searching for things of interest. Nymeria leaned over his shoulder to also read the notes and jot down some idea on a notepad:

 

> **_(maison)_ **
> 
> _Evangeline sa fleur_
> 
> **_(voyager)_ **
> 
> _notre même mer_
> 
> **_ZZZ_ **
> 
> _1 Evangeline 12/1_
> 
> _2 Clarisse 8/2_
> 
> _3 Melissandre 3/3_
> 
> _4 Celene 7/7_

“You know Orlesian?” She asked him nonchalantly.

“A little bit.” He told her. “I used to travel a bit, so I picked up a few words here and there.”

“ _‘Maison’_ means house, by the way.” She told him, pointing at the notes with her pen. "So whatever password is listed under that is probably for his home security. So it probably isn't the password hint we need.”

“It’s the one marked 'Z _ZZ_ ” Bull told her. “It has to be.”

“What makes you think that?”

“There’s a label on the side of his suitcase.” Bull pointed out. “See there? Right on the left-hand side. Near the lock. It’s clearly manmade. It reads 'Le Sommeil', meaning The Slumber. Thus the 'ZZZ'. Get it? So Florian went through the trouble of inscribing something on his own suitcase so he wouldn’t forget.”

“Ah, you’re right.” She nodded, scribbling on her notepad.

Bull turned around to look at her, brows raised. “Are you writing notes down for your article? Or are you helping me decode this?”

She bit her lip. “Both? Neither? I don’t know; which do you prefer?”

_Glad to see she still has her sense of humor._

“I prefer the latter. If you’re going to be here, you might as well prove yourself useful.”

“Oh, I think I’ve already proved myself plenty useful. But if you need my help _so desperately_ , I _suppose_ I could lend a hand…”

“Oh yeah?” He pointed at his own notes. “Brag all you want, but I think I’ve got the password halfway solved.”

“Already?” Her eyes widened.

“Yep,” He grinned.

“ _Do_ enlighten me then.” She told him in a feigned Orlesian accent.

“ _‘Elle’_.” He told her, tapping his pen on his own notepad. “It means ‘she’. That’s the first part.”

“And how did you figure that part out?” She asked, genuinely impressed and surprised.

“Look at his notes under ‘ZZZ’.” He pointed out. “There’s a number next to each name. This is a _really_ easy passcode hint once you know about it. Each number corresponds to that number letter in the name beside it.”

Nymeria looked down at Florian’s notebook again: 

> **_ZZZ_ **
> 
> _1 Evangeline 1/12_
> 
> _2 Clarisse 2/8_
> 
> _3 Melissandre 3/3_
> 
> _4 Celene 7/7_

“Ah, I see.” She nodded, snapping her fingers. “‘One’ is next to ‘Evangeline’, so ‘E’ is the first letter, and so on and so forth. It’s so simple!”

“Exactly.” Bull nodded. “This way others will think it’s just a list of people he’s written down for his will or something.”

“So what of the second half?” She asked. “That has to do with the numbers next to their names, right?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure _how_.” Bull frowned. “Next to every name is set of numbers. I thought it was an important date, like a birthday or something, but corresponding numbers and the letters to their month don't add up to any word I know, Orlesian or not...”

“Hmmm…” Nymeria looked deep in thought. “But I think you’re onto something. It _has_ to be -”

Nymeria was suddenly cut off by a shrill shriek coming from the doorway:

**_“DEAR MAKER! WHAT ARE YOU SAVAGES DOING TO HIS ROOM?”_ **

Lady Mantillon was practically pulling her hair out of her skull, a ghastly look of horror and repugnance shrewn across her face. Her cheeks turned pale and her lips were pressed thin.

“We’re conducting a search in Florian Valmont’s room for clues, ma’am.” Rocky told her, politely gesturing Lady Mantillon away from the suite doorway. “Please, let me escort you back to your - ”

 _“Don’t touch me, you disgusting midget!”_ She hissed, pulling back from Rocky as if he was a poisonous snake.

_How can someone be such an self-righteous bigot?_

Bull stood from the couch, his face stern but cool and collected.

“Lady Mantillon, like my men told you, we are conducting a search in Florian Valmont’s room. I advise you to go back to the conference room or retire to your own room for the time being. Skinner should be done searching it by now.”

“I will absolutely not! Why, look at the state that it’s in! How dare you dishonor him like this! What are you doing with his personal effects, hm? That suitcase belongs to him! You can’t take it!”

“Is there a reason you don’t want us opening it?” He asked, surprisingly calm despite her histrionics.

“Of course not!” She sneered. “But I bet you can’t even open it, you oaf!”

 _“This will be my last time warning you, Ms. Mantillon._ ” His brows furrowed. “I don’t know how the court handles cases like these in Orlais, but here in Skyhold if you are hiding anything that hinders our investigation, you will be treated as an accomplice in the murder of Florian Valmont. Is that understood?”

Lady Mantillon scowled and pursed her lips, as though she ate something sour.

“Perfectly.” She answered in a low, disapproving voice.

“I will be retiring to my room now. We have an important conference to attend in Halamshiral on Friday. Please see to it that this will be resolved by then! Good day!”

Iron Bull shook his head sadly as he watched her disappear into her own suite down the hall.

“She sleeps.” Nymeria murmured as he sat back down next to her.

“Yesh, it’s a fucking miracle. Maybe she’ll _stay_ asleep until we figure this out.” He rolled his eyes irritably.

Nymeria shook her head. “No. I mean _‘she sleeps'_ . **_That’s_ ** the password.”

“What?” He paused. “How - ?”

She gave him her notepad - the one she had been diligently scribbling on this entire time - the one he thought she had been taking notes on for her precious article: 

> _Evangeline 12/1_
> 
> _Clarisse 8/2_
> 
> _Melissandre 3/3_
> 
> _Celene 7/7_
> 
>  
> 
> _1st of Decembre =  D_
> 
> _2nd of Aout = O_
> 
> _3rd of Mars = R_
> 
> _7th of Juillet = T_
> 
>  
> 
> _elle dort = ‘she sleeps’ = ZZZ_

_“‘Elle dort’._ Nymeria spoke quietly. “That _has to_ be the password. It makes the most sense, considering ‘ZZZ’ and Le Sommeil', right?”

“I mean, I guess.” Bull scratched his head.

 _Damn, how come I didn’t think of that? Well, my Orlesian_ **_is_ ** _a bit rusty I guess._

_What the fuck kind of password was that anyway?_

“But if it’s wrong we won’t be able to try again.” He told her.

“I mean, you _could_.” Krem shrugged. “It just might take a while.”

“How long?”

“Anywhere for one to three months, depending on how we want to do it.” Krem replied. “Since the chances of Lady Mantillon giving us the passcode is so low, interrogating her might actually give us more repercussions than benefits. On the other hand, getting a blow torch will be easy but veil quarts takes months to even dent; that’s why it’s so expensive.”

“I’d say this doesn’t actually need to be open, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.”

“Look, I don’t want to make any snap judgments either but do we have any other choice?” Nymeria asked, apprehensive. “Do you know any other possible solutions it might be?”

“No, you’re right. This is the only possibility we’ve got.” Bull sighed. “If it’s wrong, we’ll just have to suck it up and ask Mantillon for the passcode. Even if she refuses, I’ll file the paperwork to get around it eventually.”

Krem frowned. “But that might take months, chief!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bull replied forlornly. “I know… And filing all the paperwork to HR will take at least two months since they’re so god-damned slow over in Fereldan.”

“Can’t blame them though.” Krem shrugged. “Fereldan Police Department just came out of their last case with a few dozen of their officers injured.”

“Let’s give the password a shot before we get pessimistic.” Nymeria told him, giving him a playful shove. “At least this was a team effort, right?”

“Right,” Bull grunted and pressed the keys to the screen on the suitcase.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._ Bull held his breath. The keyboard on the touchscreen were almost too tiny for his thick fingers. But he managed. _Beep. Beep. Beep._

_CLICK._

The silver latches unlocked automatically and Bull almost jumped back, startled.

“It opened!” Nymeria let out a surprised, excited gasp behind him and clapped her hands together.

“What is it?” Krem asked as the rest of them clamored to look over Bull’s massive shoulders.

Bull blinked at the contents of the case before him.

_Oh, what the fuck. Seriously?_

He expected his eyes to glitter like he had seen a pile of damned glittering damnstone gems, free for the taking.

But instead, all he was greeted with was a few scraps of yellowed, chewed up newspaper clippings and other miscellaneous articles.

“This was a wild goose chase after all.” He sighed audibly.

“Wait, is that - ? Mind if I take a look?” Nymeria asked, snapping on some archival, acid-free gloves..

“Be my guest.” He replied, trying not to hide his disappointment.

He would've lost his temper, but he was simply too tired to snap.

It wasn’t Nymeria’s fault there wasn’t any substantial evidence in the suitcase. It wasn’t her fault the suitcase didn’t have decisive evidence Bull needed to either convict or acquit Briala’s name from Florian Valmont’s murder. It wasn’t her fault they hadn’t caught the killer yet.

The titles of the articles were as follows: _Local Fire in Arlesans Breaks Out!, Montsimmard: Local Firefighter Saves 5 Children from Mysterious Explosion, The Fereldan Times: Local Shelter in Downtown Denerim Meets a Gruesome End, 15 Injured, None Killed in Recent Alienage Mishap._ There were also several others detailing similar events.

Nymeria jotted a few of the article titles down and took a few pictures on her phone before carefully setting the paper scraps back into the suitcase.

“What should we do with the briefcase, chief?”

“Take it down to the station.” Bull ordered, giving Grim the case. “Skinner. Rocky. Both of you are going back with him. These may still be relevant. If Florian didn’t want this getting out, maybe there’s something useful in there. Grim, look through them carefully.”

The three officers nodded and filed into the elevator down the hall.

Bull scratched the back of his head, looking tired and completely sapped of energy.

He was a little frustrated. Just a little bit.

 _How was all this tied to the Florian’s murder?_ Bull frowned as he watched Nymeria continue to scribble on her notepad. _Briala being framed, Calienne de Ghislain’s murder years ago, and now these fires across Orlais and Denerim. How could they be related? Was this just a wild goose chase after all?_

“That was exciting.” Nymeria smiled, seemingly happy with herself as she tucked her book back into her bag.

“Was it?” He shot her a look a disbelief. “It was disappointing, to be more exact.”

“I don’t think so,” She answered singfully.

“I guess it’s about time to wrap up for the day anyway.” Krem said. “Unit B and C are staying until midnight, and then the night shift will head over and switch with them. Dalish is staying in the room at the end of the corridor. The Valmonts are all in their respective rooms, and the guards are stationed outside each of their suites.”

“Sounds perfect. Great job, Krem.” Bull patted him on the back. “Let’s load up the car and we’ll head back to the station. You’re driving.”

Krem rolled his eyes. “ _Of course_ I’m driving.”

“I guess I should stay here too?” Nymeria asked Bull, confusion in her tone.

“Nah, you can head back home.” He told her.

“So you won’t need me anymore? Because I can - “

“Well, you _have_ been useful.” He nodded. “But before I ask you for more help, I’d like to change the subject slightly,” He crossed his arms. “I have to ask: Is decoding convoluted messages and passwords your hobby?”

“Not particularly, no.” She answered in a matter-of-factly tone.

“I mean, that was a pretty obscure message to decode.” He told her. “And how is it that you know Orlesian?”

 _Oh, Iron Bull. If only you knew how many cryptic messages the Evanuris broadcasted in their public service announcements._ Nymeria thought.

“I travel a lot, like you.” She answered simply. “I guess I’ll call a cab then?”

She tried to leave but he suddenly gripped her by the arm and held her back.

“Hey, what gives?” She hissed.

“Who are you, really?” He asked, lowering his voice.

“I used to be a lawyer.” She barred her teeth, increasingly annoyed that he was so suspicious of her. She wanted him to let go of her arm before she decked him in the face.

“There's no way a lawyer learns _that_ in school.”

She crossed her arms: “If you're an elf trying to defend your own people, you must be thorough before letting the human government take away evidence to service their own ends. _Now let go of me.”_ She snarled.

He let go of her arms. His grip hadn’t been particularly tight. But she didn’t want to wring him off her unless she really had to. She didn’t want to cause a scene. Besides, he was _the Deputy Chief._

“You sound oddly suspicious of me,” She pointed out, straightening her jacket. “ _Even though I have a clear alibi_.”

“Do I?” He let out a loud laugh suddenly, his defensive stance dissipating entirely. “I’m just curious about you.”

“That’s not what it seems like to me.” Now _her_ arms were crossed as she looked at his apprehensively.

“I just know there’s more to you than meets the eye.” He told her. “And I want to know more about you before I ask for more help.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “ _Of course_ you don’t know anything about me. Today’s the first day we’ve met. Did you expect to know my entire life story by now, chief Iron Bull? Hm? Should we go get a coffee somewhere and exchange personal biographies?”

He cocked a brow, turning his head slightly. “Are you offering to go on a date with me, Ms. Lavellan?”

“I was trying to prove a point.” She replied stoically, though her cheeks flushed slightly pink. “You don’t know me. I barely know you. To be honest, I don’t even know why you asked me to stay around this long. You _know_ I’m a reporter for _The Daily Inquisitor_ , right? Arent’t you afraid I might write slanderous, vile articles about you and your team?”

“Nope,” He smiled.

“Oh?”

“I looked you up on break.” He told her. “I know what kind of articles you write.”

“I knew it.” She whispered gleefully. “I _knew_ you were looking me up on that tablet of yours! I knew it!”

And then she giggled! It was an incredibly bubbly, girly giggle that didn’t sound like her at all. It was cute.

“I know.” He answered, unable to hide his smirk. “I’m just intrigued by you. You’ve aroused my curiosity.”

“ _Just_ your curiosity?” She wiggled a brow.

_Oh, this was getting deceptively naughty..._

He cleared his throat.

“I’m just asking where you acquired such a keen eye for detail and a knack for critical thinking.”

“Maybe I was born a genius.”

“Is that right? Well the, let’s get out of here, _genius_.”

They made their way to the elevator, where Krem and Skinner were loading the last of their boxes of evidence for the station. As they passed the large conference room, Bull could see Theodore and Melissandre Valmont brooding angrily at each other at opposite ends of the table while Clarisse Valmont presumably tried to mend what was left of their marriage.

Iron Bull and Nymeria joined the rest of the Chargers in the elevator. The spacious lift smelled of sweet cinnamon and honeysuckle. As Bull glanced around to see if they had forgotten anyone (sans Dalish), he noticed Grim texting a string of emojis to an online friend as he played that weird mobile game on his phone with the candy.

Nymeria Lavellan stood beside him, watching the numbers to the elevator blink on and off until they reached the bottom floor. She patted down her hair and swiftly zipped up her leather jacket as soon as the elevator doors opened to the lobby and she stepped out first.

“You need a ride?” Bull asked once they stepped out of the hotel.

The air outside was stuffy and humid. It made him feel like the back of his neck was sticking to the tiny hairs on his skin. Still, it was not the worst feeling in the world. It had been way worse in Seheron.

“No, I’m okay.” Nymeria told him. “I’ll hail a cab. That’s how I got here this morning anyway.”

“Righy.” He nodded and started Krem and Grim load boxes into their car. “Anyway, I might need your help again.”

“Oh? I thought you considered me suspicious.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“Last I checked, secretive and suspicious were not synonymous.” He told her, lifting another heavy box into the trunk of his squad car.

“Sure. Whatever you say... Just let me know if you need my help again.” She answered, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah.” He slammed the trunk close and Krem opened the driver’s side door. “I’ll shoot you an email? What’s your address?”

Krem laughed from the drivers side.

“What?” Bull shot him a look.

“E-mail?” Nymeria broke out laughing too. “Come on. This is twenty-first century, dude.”

He let out a conceding sigh, his hands waving in surrender. “Fine. How should I get in contact with you then, Ms. Lavellan?”

“For one, you should REALLY stop calling me Ms. Lavellan.” She told him, smiling. “Just call me Nymeria. It’s more informal anyway.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m a informal type of guy.” Bull replied.

“I noticed.”

“So, how should I get in contact with you, Nymeria?”

She smirked, eye fluttering up at him. “Why? Are you asking me for my number, _sir_?”

_The way she emphasized that last word suddenly sent shivers down his spine._

He ignored her flirtatious demeanor and instead handed her his card and got inside the passenger’s side of his car.

“Text me. I’ll see you later.” He told her.

And then he and Krem drove off towards the downtown tunnels.

* * *

**Downtown Skyhold, 6:06pm**

Normally, Bull wasn’t one to check his phone constantly. He’d much rather spend his time at home playing video games with Krem, going outside to a bar, or playing rugby with the Chargers.

Yet, when he got home that night from the station and unlocked his extra-large tablet phone, he noticed a string of new message alerts from a new number in his notification and opened it to read:

**— (xxx)-xxx-7483 6:07 pm**

Got home safely

**— (xxx)-xxx-7483 6:08 pm**

You know, in case you needed or wanted to know or whatever

**— (xxx)-xxx-7483 6:19 pm**

This is nymeria btw

He chuckled to himself as he reread her messages, then updated her contact information in his phone before replying:

**— Iron Bull 6:37 pm**

Glad to see you made it back in one piece

**— Iron Bull 6:38 pm**

Interesting though.

It only took you this long to go home from the hotel?

we must live within a 4 mile radius of each other

He slumped onto his back on the couch and turned on his television. What should he watch tonight? Another scary movie? He had ordered takeout for the night and was still waiting on that delivery guy.

His phone buzzed a few minutes later:

**— Nymeria L. 6:40 pm**

Omg lol

**— Nymeria L. 6:40 pm**

You planning on stalking me or smth?

To which he promptly replied:

**— Iron Bull 6:41 pm**

Nah, it’s be too easy to track you down

**— Nymeria L. 6:42 pm**

Oh. right. Excuse me, i forgot you’re Mr stalk-people-on-the-internet.

Well. She had him there.

**— Iron Bull 6:44 pm**

Well, don't b too flattered/worried

I have to look you up for background checks, remember?

It’s a part of my job.

**— Nymeria L. 6:45 pm**

Riiiiiight.

He set his phone down for a while after that, placing it on the table beside the couch. He sifted through the channels on basic cable, but nothing in particular caught his attention.

_Maybe I’ll just quickly eat when the food gets here and see if Krem and Grim are online to play a round of Dragons & Shields. _

His eyes caught his phone and he suddenly felt the urge to text her again:

**— Iron Bull. 6:46 pm**

I was serious just fyi

She texted back almost instantly:

**— Nymeria L. 6:47 pm**

About what?

Stalking me?

accusing me of murder?

Being suspicious of me?

asking for my help?

Flirting with me?

**— Iron Bull 6:47 pm**

wow you make me sound like a confusing jackass

**— Nymeria L. 6:48 pm**

uh Maybe its bc you ARE one?

YOU'RE the one talking about being serious about stalking me, MR DEPUTY CHIEF. IMAGINE the article I could write! Haha jk

**— Iron Bull 6:48 pm**

what

No no no

no I was being serious about knwing more about you

**— Nymeria L. 6:49 pm**

Ha. Aren’t you sweet

But I'm really not that interesting tbh

**— Iron Bull 6:49 pm**

Let me determine that.

Besides, I like mysteries

I'll slowly get you to confide in me

Show you how a REAL detective works

**— Nymeria L. 6:50 pm**

Omg wow

Youre being bad...

Also, I thought you hated things you didn’t know about

Like secrets and stuff

**— Iron Bull 6:50 pm**

I hate secrets being kept for the sake of being mysterious

But I like interesting people

**— Nymeria L. 6:51 pm**

Oh?

I’m interesting to you?

Awww ;)

She was flirting again.

Question was: Was she serious about it?

He paused for a second to contemplate what to write, but she beat him to it.

**— Nymeria L. 6:52 pm**

Well, you go solve your mysteries haha and let me know if you want to grab that coffee sometime

**— Iron Bull 6:52 pm**

Of course, ms hot-shot-ex-attorney

**— Nymeria L. 6:53 pm**

hahaha

**— Iron Bull 6:53 pm**

But first

Help me solve this quick mystery

I couldn't find it online and it's only something you'd know..

**— Nymeria L. 6:54 pm**

Oh? What is it?

I'm intrigued...

**— Iron Bull 6:55 pm**

what's your REAL name, Nymeria?

**— Nymeria L. 6:55 pm**

HA!

THAT’S a mystery to you?

**— Iron Bull 6:56 pm**

Not as much a mystery as it is just my curiosity

**— Iron Bull 6:59 pm**

You going to tell me?

**— Nymeria L. 7:02 pm**

Never! I'll take it to my grave! Besides, it's already been legally changed!

And I COULD be wrong, but...

i believe it's none of your business.

;)

Bull laughed and set his head back on the couch, scratching the back of his head.

_Well... She’s not wrong._


	10. Dagna's Cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nymeria struggles with her writing and a bit of her motives are hinted. Sera makes a cameo, and Cassandra is introduced.

**_Downtown_ ** **Skyhold City - 6:05pm**

The expensive ballpoint pen Merrill had given her last Satinalia balanced delicately between her fingertips.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. TapTapTap._

Now she was tapping it impatiently across her keyboard.

The ride from the hotel took far longer than she thought. She spent the half hour in the back of the cab going over notes on her phone, organizing them, and then uploading it so that she could work on it the moment she got home.

She had all but flung herself out the taxi door when it arrived. Her shoes had been biting into her heels but she didn’t care. She wrestled her keys out of her coat pocket and unlocked the door hastily.

Merrill greeted her kindly but Nymeria barely managed to recall what she said in response before she shut herself inside the tiny bedroom down the hall. She dropped her bag on the floor, threw her heels in the closet, and dug out the silver-plated laptop hiding underneath a compendium of unreturned library books and articles for Merrill’s research paper last month.

She peeled off her pants, slipped into a pair of sweats, tied up her hair, and dragged her laptop to her desk.

It took a few minutes to get into the swing of things. After a long string of texts, she had to lock her phone in the bottom drawer of her desk.

_Stop texting Iron Bull. You have a job to do. Don’t use him as a distraction._

Within a half hour, she wrote a little blurb detailing the events: 

> _**SKYHOLD CITY, UPTOWN** — A shocking new ordeal has the authorities miffed. Just days after Divine Justinia’s coronation as Divine of Orlais, in uptown Skyhold City, about 200 miles east of Val Royeaux, something truly terrible happened._
> 
> _Florian Valmont, 75, an accomplished Orlesian artist and retired politician, widely hailed as a world-renowned, deeply gifted soul, was murdered in a vicious crime. His body was found stabbed with a sharp object, likely a knife, in his hotel room at the Herald’s Rest Plaza Hotel in Skyhold City. Although the police arrived on the scene within 15 minutes of the discovery of his body, he was already dead._
> 
> _The authorities are baffled as to the missing murder weapon and the victim’s body being locked from the inside of his hotel suite. There is currently no suspicion from the Skyhold Police Department that this was a suicide. Their investigation will be ongoing._

Her introductory piece was online within minutes. And now she had to continue the story; They had all the advantages. She couldn’t squander it, or it would go to another news source that would probably write it all wrong. She was there. She was a witness. Who better to write this than her?

Varric was already texting her to let her know the public demand was high for her next update:

**— Varric 6:32 pm**

We've gotten over five thousand hits in the past hour alone

keep this up and this story will be your breakthrough

**— Nymeria L 6:34 pm**

lol yay!

**— Varric 6:38 pm**

you'll have to get close to the deputy chief for more details

i'm sure you're not opposed to that?

**— Nymeria L 6:39 pm**

not at all

I'm on it ;)

**— Varric 6:40 pm**

you're on what?

the case?

or the deputy chief? ;)

**— Nymeria L 6:45 pm**

woooooow

I don't even know how to respond to that

what exactly are you trying to say Varric??

**— Varric 6:46 pm**

all i'm saying is i saw the footage on the news channel 5

you two seemed pretty close 

making googly eyes at each other already

didn't you JUST meet the guy?

**— Nymeria L 6:47 pm**

you are totally making that shit up

there were no googly eyes!

**— Varric 6:48 pm**

yeah yeah

you know that qunari has his own fan club

all women go nuts for him

**— Nymeria L 6:49 pm**

w/e

how is that relevant to me?

you are stretching things

THERE

WERE

NO

GOOGLY

EYES

BEING

MADE

**— Varric 6:50 pm**

ok ok

i believe you

Nymeria sighed and set her phone down to turn back to her computer screen.

Damn. Varric was right; the number of hits on her article was growing steadily by the minute, it seemed almost absurd. But considering the fame of the Valmont family...

 _This is bigger than I thought. Okay. You signed yourself up for this. You can’t get cold feet now, Nymeria. The Valmonts are practically Orlesian royalty. You’ve got to nail this. It’s a long ladder, girl. You need to get to the top._ **_For him. For us._ **

She breathed deeply.

Varric, with all his strings and connections, managed to let the other competing press and news publishers know that he had the best writer on the case, and that Nymeria would have personal insider knowledge on the case. Which, of course, meant she was going to have to work with Iron Bull until the case was solved. Not that she minded, of course. She had anticipated that she’d have to work with him again anyway.

She closed her laptop and went into the kitchen to grab a snack and check up on Merrill.

“Feeling better?” She asked, grabbing some milk from the fridge.

“A lot better, _ma serannas_.” Merrill lay on the couch with a blanket and some tea, watching a popular sitcom rerun.

“Looks like your fever’s died down.” Nymeria checked her forehead.

“It has since this morning, yes. I managed to get temporary relief with some royal elfroot from the neighbors. They still owe me for taking care of their plants last month.” Merrill paused for a second, and then muted the television before speaking: “I saw on the news what happened. Are you alright?”

“What? Oh, yes. I’m fine.” Nymeria nodded, taking a deep breath. “I just finished my article, so that’s good. I also have some notes for you, but -”

“No, I mean what happened! I heard there are a murder! It’s all over the news! Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes. I’m fine.”

“I tried to call you, but I think my phone’s out of service.”

“Did you forget to pay your bill again?”

“Yes,” Merrill blushed. “I don’t understand how to get to the page on the computer.”

“I’ll have to show you how to do it again.” Nymeria smiled at her hopelessly.

“I don’t understand how you can be so calm.” Merrill stared, her face a mixture of confusion and concern.

“It’s not a big deal.” Nymeria replied quietly, taking a seat next to Merrill on the sofa. “Here, I’ve uploaded my notes for you. I’m afraid the conference was cancelled. You know, you obvious purposes.”

“How did it happened? Do you know? I hear the police brought in a elven woman for questioning! It couldn’t have been her, could it?”

“No, it wasn’t her.” Nymeria frowned, unhappy that the media had already begun to twist the story against Briala. Hopefully her article was online now and alleviating the situation a little.

“I’m sorry. This was all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked. Now I’ve put you in this awful situation! It’s all my fault!”

Nymeria smiled. “Well, I don’t think about it like at all. You’ve given me a better story to write than anything else I would’ve been working on if I hadn’t gone at all.”

“Now you sound like one of those awful reporters on TV!”

“You’ve been watching too many soap operas again.” Nymeria rolled her eyes. “I’m not _that_ kind of reporter, first of all. I’d never slander anyone and I _definitely_ won’t do anything for a scoop. When have I ever blown anything out of proportion in an article?”

“I know, I know… I just feel awful for putting you in that kind of situation.”

“Don’t feel bad. Like I said, the Valmont family is actually quite important. If anything, this has given me a good opportunity to expand my connections. I should be giving you my thanks instead.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I’m not Merrill.” Nymeria pulled out her phone to start uploading her notes for Merrill. “I needed more connections and this was surprisingly useful for me. I had no idea the Valmonts were this prominent a family...”

“Aren’t you at all concerned about the murder, _lethallan_?”

“I am.” Nymeria nodded, watching the upload link load. “But I got to help out the police. It’s been awhile since I’ve got a chance to go back to my roots.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when I was a lawyer I would - ”

Suddenly, Nymeria’s phone buzzed. She read the text message notifications that blinked across the screen:

**— Iron Bull 7:07 pm**

Berserker Server. Raid starts in 10 min.

Oops, wrong number

Supposed to be for Krem

**— Nymeria L 7:07 pm**

Lol. Are you playing a online game???

**— Iron Bull 7:08 pm**

yes

**— Nymeria L 7:08 pm**

Wow

I’m learning so much about you lololol

**— Iron Bull 7:09 pm**

Regretting telling you to go home

Maybe we should consider the fact that you’re still a suspect.

She almost snorted aloud when she read the text. Merrill shot her a puzzled look as Nymeria replied:

**— Nymeria L. 7:10 pm**

Yet your unprofessional attitude suggests otherwise

Bull replied almost instantaneously:

**— Iron Bull 7:10 pm**

touche.

“Lethallan, you don’t think the murderer’s going to come after you ... do you?” Merrill asked.

“No, I doubt it.” Nymeria shook her head. “I don’t know anyone at the scene of the crime. I have no motive. In fact, going after a reporter would only make things worse. Besides, I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt that, lethallan. But I still think you should be careful.” Merrill sighed. “Even if you’re not a suspect, you might become one if you get too close to the crime scene, don’t you think? I remember they detained a elf reporter in Kirkwall just because she was writing about the corruption in Kirkwall’s law enforcement!”

“Don’t worry, Merrill.”

“How could I not worry?”

Nymeria paused for a second, temporarily sidetracked from their conversation. She had shot Bull a string of texts:

**— Nymeria L. 7:12 pm**

You planning on questioning me?

Good call.

I would’ve done that from the beginning

Oh wait

You already did that, didn’t you?

How did that work out for you again?

“For one, I have a feeling Skyhold’s Deputy Chief and I are going to become quite acquainted with each other.”

“Really?” Merrill’s eyes bulged out. “Is that… is that really a wise decision, considering you’re…?”

“Considering I’m an elf?” Nymeria laughed. “Do you even know what our Deputy Chief looks like, Merrill?”

“I thought I saw … Isn’t he the pretty man with the undercut?”

“Nope.” Nymeria smiled. “It’s actually the Iron Bull.”

“Oh! I think I saw him on the television too! Is he the Qunari? He didn’t seem too fond of the camera. I thought he was a bodyguard or something!”

“He probably was a bodyguard in the past, I bet...” Nymeria muttered as she read her next new message from him:

**— Iron Bull 7:13 pm**

Just reminding you that you’re not completely off my radar

Nymeria rolled her eyes:

**— Nymeria L. 7:14 pm**

Lucky me. That must be why we’re having a text message conversation

instead of you sending out your unit of officers to my home to detain me for questioning.

It’s not like you don’t have an idea of where I live by now, mr. stalker.

**— Iron Bull 7:17 pm**

If i did I’m sure keeper Deshanna would have a heart attack

**— Nymeria L. 7:19 pm**

Do I even want to know how you knw that name? Creepy...

“What’s he like?” Merrill asked, watching Nymeria carefully and smiling to herself as if she knew a secret Nymeria didn’t.

“A bit creepy, honestly.” Nymeria replied, not catching the glimmer in Merrill’s eyes.

“So you’ll probably see him again, right? Since you’re doing that report for Varric?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to. He has to let me know details on the case, and apparently I’m still not completely off his suspects radar yet.”

Nymeria’s phone buzzed again:

**— Iron Bull 7:21 pm**

Wh? because I looked you up? Anyone with a smartphone does that nowadays. It's like second nature isn't it?

**— Nymeria L. 7:25 pm**

For a Qunari who never actually grew up with advanced technology until a few years ago, yes.

“Is that him?” Merrill asked.

“Yep,” Nymeria nodded. “He needs to go over my notes with him tomorrow. And everything that I write has to go through him first.”

“Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose of honest journalism?”

Nymeria laughed. “He’s not exactly concerned with the media. As long as I don’t give out straight lies, I think he’ll be fine with whatever I put out. It’s really the Valmont family I’m concerned with…”

“Why? Were they that terrible?”

“The worst.” Nymeria snorted. “They’ll definitely try to spin this all wrong. So I have to beat them to it.”

Her phone vibrated again:

**— Iron Bull 7:28 pm**

Oh, so I see you've been reading up on me too.

**— Nymeria L. 7:29 pm**

You aren't the only one with a smartphone

**— Iron Bull 7:30 pm**

Now who's being the creep?

“Why doesn’t he just call you?” Merrill asked innocently.

“Why, indeed.” Nymeria smirked.

“You’re going to work with him from now on?”

“I kind of have to.” Nymeria started typing on the screen. “It’s officially part of my job now.”

“Well, I’d tell you to be careful with the media but i’m sure you don’t need me saying that.”

“I can take care of myself.” Nymeria smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll have a -”

Bull texted her before she could finish her thought:

**— Iron Bull 7:34 pm**

Anyway

Tomorrow

Let’s meet

Bonny Simms Cafe. Uptown. 11am.

See you there.

Good night, Ms. Lavellan.

“Huh.” Nymeria paused. She was a bit hesitant.

“What is it?”

Merrill, curiosity piqued, leaned over to read the messages.

“So it’s a sort of date, isn’t it?” She giggled, pulling back and tightly hugging the pillow to her chest.

“You know, I’m not exactly sure _what_ it is.” Nymeria turned off her phone’s screen and shifted on the couch. “But it’s definitely not a date.”

“Oh, of course not.” Merrill replied, still smiling.

The rest of the night Nymeria and Merrill watched old rerun of their favorite shows and ordered take-out.

The food was not at all on par with what was served at The Herald’s Rest Plaza Hotel Cafe. But Nymeria didn’t care. She was more concerned with her brunch ‘date’ the following day.

* * *

  ** _Underground_ ** **Skyhold City - 3:10am**

Well, at least there was _some_ good news so far. That stupid, rich racist was now dead.

Sera wished she could’ve seen the look on his face. It must’ve been priceless. Whoever killed him must’ve been pleased with themselves.

Her only regret was that she hadn’t been able to use what she had against Florian Valmont completely before he kicked the bucket. _Ooooh, the scoop she had on him was soooo good too..._

No matter. She could still use that information to turn some tables. Especially with the upcoming election…

Still, she needed a bit of backup. A bit of added security.

After all, the kind of people she was pissing off could just as easily turn on her as she could on them.

As much as she hated dealing with politicians, Sera knew she had to play her cards right.

And for that, she’d need a bit of help from the Red Jenny.

She hung, upside down, on the metal bars mounted on the ceiling in her quiet basement computer lab. She had installed the bars as a means to exercise while she ‘worked’.

She pulled out her email app and started composing:

> **From: arrowtotheface@redjenny.net**
> 
> _A doe with a arrow in its leg. Headache and fever._
> 
> _Send bandages. Need more medicine too._
> 
> _Thanks._

She jumped down from the ceiling promptly and then woke her computers from sleep mode.

_In the meantime, she might as well kill some time playing Dragons & Shields. The new expansion just came out too... _

* * *

**_Downtown_ ** **Skyhold City - 8:10am**

When the morning crept into her bedroom, Nymeria lazily lifted the covers from her cozy self to freshen up and get to work. She was working from home today, but it helped to maintain her usual regimented schedule.

But now…

 _This is harder than I thought._ She huffed silently _._

It had been little more than 12 hours since she put out the introductory article. Now she was working on the big piece - recounting her experience on the case in excruciating detail.

If her narrative was captivating enough, she might even get a publishing deal out of it, not that she aspired to be any sort of accomplished writer. But the recognition she would get from publishing work on the murder of a famous Orlesian businessman and prominent social figure would _definitely_ attract attention.

And if she catered it correctly, she could attract exactly the one person in the world she needed the get closer to...

 _You’re getting ahead of yourself._ She frowned at the voice inside her head. _Should’ve taken the alternative route. Even Keeper Deshanna told you discreet infiltration would’ve been easier, especially if you have taken the job at the Skyhold Judiciary Law Firm. But nooooo, you decided to take the long route instead. Great fucking idea, Nymeria. Just great_.

She quickly shut out the voices in her head and continued her work: typing and retyping, editing and deleting, rewriting whole paragraphs and replacing certain words that might denote bias or controversy. Somehow, it still seemed like she was getting nowhere.

Why was this so hard to write? She never had any trouble writing before.

_This ought to be just like a regular case file down at the office when you were a lawyer. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten? Come on, girl - you can do this!_

She clicked back to reread the short article she put out last night, hoping it might help her in some way. It didn’t.

Nymeria let out a loud groan. She didn’t even hit half of the word count milestone. She kept erasing what she wrote because it all sounded so flat and uninspired.

Varric ought to be peeved at her. But of course, being the kind friend he was, he didn’t nag her or push her to write any quicker, because he knew her articles were often his most popular hits online.

The small, flat-screen LCD resting on her dresser had been buzzing with news in the background. A few of her co-workers had been texting and asking her questions because they all knew she had been in contact with the Skyhold Deputy Chief and the late Florian Valmont. Still, she tried to divulge as little biased information as possible (even though Florian Valmont was really a bigoted racist when she had met him).

She thought listening to the news would help her write, but she only ended up getting distracted by the broadcast:

> _Celene Valmont, daughter of President Clarise Valmont, has struck yet another blow to her family name. The soon-to-be senator on the Orlesian Grand Council was recently engaged to an elven woman who secretly planned to murder her uncle - the chair of the Valmont family - Florian Valmont. The Valmonts were planning to have a extravagant auction held yesterday at noon at the Herald’s Rest Plaza Hotel when Valmont was found murdered in his own suite with a fatal knife wound to the stomach. The Skyhold Police are currently investigating the matter and have declined to comment further on the case. The Valmont family plans to press charges and expresses their immense sadness for this unfortunate loss. President Clarisse Valmont will be making an announcement later this morning at the Skyhold City Hall near Herald’s Rest Plaza. Meanwhile, Celene’s mistress is currently at the Skyhold City Jail Cell downtown and is awaiting a proper trial and conviction._

Nymeria could hardly believe her ears.

 _They’ve already decided her guilt._ Her heart sank. _The Valmonts have decided to make Briala the scapegoat, and_ **_of course_ ** _the media just runs with it. And there’s nothing Iron Bull could’ve said that would convince them otherwise. If he said anything at all it would only prove to the public that the case is baffling his people, which doesn’t help the case in the slightest._

She blinked, staring at the computer screen and hoping some sparks would fly. Perhaps she should get some coffee?

 _Calm down. The fact that Briala was taken in for questioning doesn’t determine her guilt. But the media and the Valmont family have put their own spin on this before I can even get this piece out. How am I going to write this so people will understand that Briala is innocent without drawing backlash from the public? The news media just_ **_loves_ ** _scandals too, so Celene and Briala’s relationship is perfect for them! Ugh!_

She rubbed her temples, trying to summon some sort of mystical powers from her ancestors… or something.

_I’ll need to write up the facts and statements from each of the suspects clearly to go over them. Ugh, look at the diction in this! I can’t put this out! I have to go over these facts and write them in a way the average person can understand._

_Ugh, I should never have agreed to take **his** __place. I could never even... who did I think I was, taking his place? No one could ever replace **him.**_

_Keeper Deshanna, why did you choose to send me to do this…?_

She took a deep breath, realizing now that her hands were shaking.

_Calm down. You're angry and frustrated. You need to relax. You need to think. And what better way to think than…_

She needed a break.

Her phone sat right next to her laptop. She swiftly picked it up, went down her list of contact until she found what she was looking for, and pressed the green ‘call’ button on the screen. She barely heard one ring before the other end of the line was picked up:

_“Hi, you've reached the desk of Cassandra Pentaghast at the Department of Protective Services in Skyhold City. This is Lace Harding speaking. How may I help you today?”_

“May I please talk to Ms. Pentaghast? Is she in today?”

“Oh, I'm afraid she's awfully busy. She won't be able to take calls until later this afternoon. Could you maybe try back then?”

Nymeria’s heart sank a little. She twirled her pen around her fingers as she replied:

“No? Well that's a shame. Will you let her know Nymeria Lavellan called?

“Oh, wait! Lavellan? Yes, I'll put you through. Hold on.”

_Ha! Does Cassandra have me on her short list? Must’ve had a long day at work._

The phone line clicked back within seconds and Nymeria was instantly greeted with Cassandra’s gruff, serious voice:

“Yes? Nymeria?”

“You have me on your short list, Cass? I'm honored!” Nymeria laughed aloud.

“Shut up!” She could hear Cassandra snorting on the other side. “You don’t usually call this early in the morning. I take it you need a session today?”

“Yeah, I need it to think. How does 10am work for you?” Nymeria started tapping her pen on the desk again.

“I can manage a morning workout, I suppose. I’ll meet you there. Don’t be late.”

Nymeria grinned. “Sounds fucking perfect. See you there!”

She hung up promptly, feeling infinitely better than before, and set her phone down.

_Bzzzt. Bzzt._

She hadn’t set her phone down for more than a second when it vibrated against her desk.

Thinking it was just another one of her colleagues pestering her for details, she picked up her phone with the intention of turning off vibration notifications.

Instead, she found a text from Iron Bull:

**— Iron Bull 8:55 am**

Morning

So I was thinking

We’ll need to talk about the work you’ll be doing with me

And the stuff you’re allowed to write

I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you, Ms. Ex-Lawyer

But I still have to follow protocol

**— Nymeria L. 8:57am**

Funny

I was thinking the exact same thing

I have some questions as well

Good Morning to you too btw

**— Iron Bull 8:58 am**

What can I say

Great minds think alike

**— Nymeria L. 8:59 am**

Still meeting at bonny simms’ at 11am, right?

**— Iron Bull 8:59 am**

Correct.

And I have news for you so it’ll be worth your time

I promise ;)

**— Nymeria L. 9:00 am**

Orly? ;)

11am is fine. But my schedule’s a bit tight.

I’m at Dagna’s Cross so i might be a few minutes late...

**— Iron Bull 9:01 am**

That’s not too far from where i’ll be

I can give you a lift

We can talk then

Text me the address

 

* * *

**_Dagna’s Cross,_ ** **Skyhold City - 10:44am**

**_Pow. Powpowpow! Bam._ **

Nymeria’s soft red gloves hit the poor beaten sack of heavy sand and caused it to swing violently, the chains holding it rattling above. As it hung, exhausted and worn, she promptly delivered another punch and consecutive low kick, her body swaying left and right.

**_Boff. Bwak!_ **

“Good one.” Cassandra nodded form the other side of the punching bag. “Try the upper kick again. Just to make sure your injury is fully recovered.”

“Oh, for the love of - It’s been nearly three months, Cassandra.” Nymeria rolled her eyes.

“Again.” Cassandra insisted, tapping on the metal railing in the practice ring.

**_Bwak!_ **

Nymeria stumbled back slightly and gripped her thigh.

 _“Ow! Shit!”_ She grimaced.

“See! It’s still hasn’t recovered! I KNEW IT!” Cassandra approached her, hands on hips.

“... I’m just kidding.” Nymeria grinned, standing upright. “Look? See? Nothing.”

Cassandra replied with the disgusted noise she usually made and glared at Nymeria disapprovingly. She then walked past her to grab her smartphone from her jacket pocket to check the time.

“We have to wrap this up in 5 minutes.” She informed, setting her phone back in the neat pile of clothes in the corner of the ring.

Nymeria nodded comprehensively, hands on her hips. Her breaths were ragged as she spoke:

“So then, you want to go one last round?”

“Of course.” Cassandra smirked, putting on her own gloves and pressing the red button to make the punching bag in the middle of the platform recede upwards towards the ceiling and out of their way.

She motioned to the referee nearby and the man wearing a standard gym uniform approached, nodding knowingly at them. They were regulars at the boxing gym. He knew their standard procedure. He had his whistle ready.

The two women took their stances, facing opposite each other.

“You think you can beat me this time?” Cassandra smirked.

**_Pow. Boff! Boff!_ **

Nymeria managed to defend against Cassandra’s rushed assault.

“Not at all.” Nymeria admitted.

**_Pow. Bambambam!_ **

She managed to land a hit on Cassandra’s shoulder.

“Ten bucks says you’ll have me down on the floor within three minutes.”

“I don’t bet.” Cassandra scoffed, ducking a low kick expertly. “Besides, that would be too easy. I’d practically be robbing you.”

“Oh-ho! Confident, aren’t you?”

**_Pow. Bwak. Bwak Bwak!_ **

“You’ve been working on your kicks!”

“Well, I can’t let you leave me behind!”

**_Boff. Boff. Bwak. Boff Boff!_ **

“Still, I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.”

“What?”

**_Pow. Powpowpow. Bam._ **

“Seeing a murder.”

“Well, I didn’t really see it happen. I just saw the corpse.”

“You know what I mean.”

**_Bam! Bwak! BAMBAM!_ **

“Writing about it is stressful, I take it?”

“Yeah, you could say that…”

**_Bam! Powpowpow. Bam!_ **

“Police are involved, but the family involved has a large circle of influence, so that always makes things harder.”

**_Bam. Boff boff boff BOFF!_ **

“The Valmonts, you mean?”

“Yeah,”

**_Pow. Powpowpow. Bwak!_ **

**_Pow. Powpowpow. Bwak!_ **

“They weren’t altogether terrible. I mean, Florian Valmont was a bit...”

“Unpleasant would be the most mild word to describe him, I think.”

“Oh, so I take it you’ve met him before?”

**_Boff Boff Boff! BOFF! BOFF!_ **

**_Pow. Powpowpow. Bwak!_ **

“When I worked with Divine Beatrice in Orlais, yes. He was… very vocal about his opinions on others. I take it he hadn’t changed since I last saw him?”

“Nope.”

_Boff Boff Boff! BOFF! BOFF! **BWAK!** _

Nymeria fell back, balance compromised, and Cassandra landed the final blow that sent her on her ass so fast her eyes hurt from staring at the bright white light above her head.

“Looks like you owe me ten.” Cassandra took off her glove and offered her hand to Nymeria.

“Damn.” Nymeria took her hand and pulled herself up. “I didn’t even see that last kick coming...”

“Let’s get out of here.” Cassandra jumped down from the ring. She massaged her shoulders and gently moved her arm in circular motions to alleviate some of her shoulder pains. Working in a office was physically taxing.

“So how’s work?” Nymeria asked, tossing a towel over her shoulders.

“Same old, same old.” Cassandra snorted. “A bunch of men telling me what I should or should not do. Sometimes I think they forget that I am the reason they are able to sit on their asses all day making decisions that affect the lives of so many people. Without me, half of them would have broken legs and noses. In fact, most of the members of the Skyhold Senate would probably be dead by now.”

“I certainly don’t doubt that.”

They each entered separate shower stalls in the gym facilities. The one good thing about going to the gym this early in the morning on the weekday was the bonus that not many people were ever there.

“At least you have the support of Fereldan on your side…” Nymeria said, massaging her hair roughly with shampoo. “With the Fereldan Police Bureau’s cooperation and your background in law, I’m sure you can persuade half of Skyhold’s Senators to boost the city’s security overnight. You wouldn’t make a bad politician, you know...”

“Oh, please. You speak as though you have no connections - as if I’ve forgotten that you just told me you’re working with Skyhold’s Police Department on the Valmont case.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“You also have me,” Cassandra’s voice echoed in the empty gym bathroom. “You can also count on me to help you.”

“Thanks, Cass.”

“You weren’t a bad lawyer, you know.” Cassandra cleared her throat. “If you ever wanted to come back to your old job, I could pull some strings…”

“I appreciate the thought, but I don’t think I’ll be able to go back to that sort of job. Not for a while at least…”

“Is it Deshanna again?”

“Partially I guess…”

“You know…” Cassandra paused for a second. “You know what happened to that man… the one in the fire six years ago… that wasn’t you fault, right?”

“Yes. Of course I know.”

“Just making sure.”

“Don’t worry about me, Cass.”

“I apologize if it offends you. I just think you internalize a lot of your feelings. When we first met you were ...  a very different person.”

With the shampoo and soap rinsed off, Nymeria quietly turned off the shower knob.

“I was happier then.” She said softly, her voice echoing sadly in the stall. “But at least I’m less angry now than I was two years ago.”

“Well, you can still be happy.” Cassandra stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around her muscular torso. “No one is stopping you. Except yourself.”

“And Deshanna.”

“You know you don’t have to do what she tell you to if you don’t to be Keeper.”

“Yes, but it’s my duty …”

“Should I even ask how that burden fell to you?”

“It’s a complicated story.” Nymeria sighed. “I’ll explain another time.”

Cassandra frowned. “Well, I’m sure I’m in no position to give you advice. My own life is a bit hectic right now.”

“How so? You started out as a judicial officer, and now you’re a ranking officer of the Skyhold semi-secret service. At this rate, if you apply for the Head of City Security position you’ll probably get it the moment the vacancy opens.”

“Actually, I may not be working in Skyhold City for much longer.”

“What? Why not?” Nymeria stopped drying her hair and frowned.

“I’ve got a better offer.” Cassandra told her, wiping her brow with a towel.

“A offer that will lose me my punching buddy?” Nymeria grinned.

“Unfortunate for you, I’m sure. But it’s a offer I simply can’t refuse.”

“Money’s good, huh?” Nymeria smirked, arms crossed.

“It’s not exactly about the money.” Cassandra put her towel in her bag, neatly folding it along with her other clothes. “But it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. That is all I can say about it, I’m afraid. It’s government business in Orlais.”

“Fine then, I won’t pry.” Nymeria smiled. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“If you take it, I’ll miss you.”

“Shut up,” Cassandra rolled her eyes, cheeks flushed slightly. “I’ll be back and you know it.”

“I’m sure.” Nymeria’s sarcasm was not lost as she pulled her tank top over her head..

“You can text me anytime, you know.”

“What? So you can fly first-class to clobber me in the boxing ring?”

“It’s both an honor and a privilege, I assure you. You’ve improved so much over the years...”

“Well, you were a good mentor.”

Cassandra zipped her bag and followed Nymeria out the gym showers. She wore a pair of shades on top of her head and was adjusting the watch on her wrist as they walked to her car in the parking lot outside.

“At least now if I leave the city, I can rest assured knowing you can protect yourself.” She unlocked her car with the remote on her keys and the black four-door blinked in response.

“Hold on, you’re not suggesting I was the one holding you back from leaving Skyhold all this time?” Nymeria blinked.

Cassandra rolled her eyes as she tossed her gym bag in the back of the car. “Of course not. I had work to do here, and lots of it. Meeting you in that unfortunate case was just a coincidence. Don’t get a swelled head.”

Nymeria grinned.

“Having a broken leg and crawling around your apartment for your life is no laughing matter, Nymeria.”

“I didn’t say it was!” Nymeria pouted.

“I’m surprised you were strong enough to hold off as long as you did.”

“And you were a smart cookie to figure out where’d that convict would go after he broke out of jail.”

“He was a criminal sentenced to life in prison; you were his persecutor. He wanted revenge. It was common sense, really.”

**BEEP! BEEP!**

Startled, the two women turned to see a black sedan approach them in the middle of the mostly-vacant parking lot. It came to a stop in the adjacent parking spot next to Cassandra’s car. The windows were tinted and there were two passengers aboard. From the light outlines of the figures, Nymeria could just barely recognize the two people inside.

Iron Bull and Krem got out of the car seconds later, the former waving towards Nymeria.

“Who is this?” Cassandra’s tone was one of disapproval, naturally.

“Cassandra, meet Iron Bull, Skyhold Police Deputy Chief.” Nymeria introduced nervously. “I’m surprised you haven’t met him before.”

“I’m surprised _you_ have.” Cassandra gave Nymeria a questioning glance.

“He’s the one i’ll be working with.” Nymeria glanced nervously at her. “Iron Bull, this is Cassandra Pentaghast. She’s a member of the Skyhold Protection Services Committee.”

“Ah! I’ve seen you before! You were involved in that case with Divine Beatrice, weren’t you?” Krem asked.

“I was.” Cassandra nodded.

“That was you?” Bull whistled. “That was some solid work you did!”

“You, as well.” Cassandra replied politely. “I remember seeing you in the courtroom during the trial of the Tevinter spy last June, I believe. The way you handled the capture of the local spies was more tactful than I initially expected. A better job than the Chief of Police at least.”

“Ah, you’re just flattering me now. It’s making me blush.” Bull winked. “That guy was an idiot anyway. He got sacked a day after...”

“Divine Beatrice must’ve been proud to have you in her service.” Krem smiled.

“You flatter me. I was young and brash back then, I afraid.”

“Still, the way you backhanded that guy when he slandered the Divine? That was _so_ _badass_! And that look you gave him nearly scared me half to death!”

“I aim to please.” Cassandra snorted. “Anyway, I must get going, or I’ll be late your a conference meeting with the Skyhold Judicial Committee.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later then.” Nymeria nodded.

“Nice meeting you!” Krem waved.

“You too.”

Cassandra stepped into her sleek black car and drove away within seconds.

“A bit of a speed demon, isn’t she?” Iron Bull watched as Cassandra sped out of sight.

“A little.” Nymeria shrugged.

“Gym, huh?” Bull looked around at the facility he had picked her up from. “You went for a jog together?”

“Not exactly.” Nymeria tilted her head pointedly at the bag sitting near her feet. There was a mesh bag containing all her Boxing gloves sitting atop her gym bag.

“Not the sport I expected from you.” Iron Bull grinned, as if he was proud of her for taking up the sport. “I’d like to drop by and watch sometime.”

“Ha! Not a chance!” She laughed. “If you come by, you better plan on getting in the ring!”

“Really?” He rose a brow. “There’s no way you could beat me, no offense. You’d have to double your weight first, ‘else I’d just send you flying.”

Nymeria rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, you ready?” He asked.

“Yes,” She nodded. “Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I liked how this chapter dragged out. But if I wrote everything I planned on going over, this chapter would've turned out way longer... I just have a hard time writing transition scenes. 
> 
> Ugh, I'm trying hard to fight the urge to rewrite bits of this one. Please let know how you think it turned out!


	11. A Unexpected Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull and Nymeria talk about their next move and are stumped until they're interrupted by a invitation to a gallery opening and a dinner by the Valmonts.

**Dagna’s Cross, Uptown Skyhold City, 11:15am**

Bonny Simms’ Cafe was a small, quaint cafe near Helaine Park, a up-and-coming, hip neighborhood bustling with artisans and rich commerce. The coffee didn’t taste like dirt from the Hinterlands sewers like some of the downtown coffee shops did. The croissants weren’t bad either (although their take on elven braided bread was borderline blasphemous and Nymeria refused to try even one despite Bull insisting it tasted ‘fucking incredible’).

True to her suspicions, Iron Bull did try to ask her more questions about herself. Every time he tried to pry into her past or personal affairs, she simply shifted the subject matter or steered the conversation away from her. Bull must’ve picked up on it because he stopped asking and became more focused on the task at hand (either that, or the coffee was actually working).

They briefly went over what materials Nymeria should or should not include in her articles, though most of it was pretty much common sense. They went over each other's’ notes, Bull being impressed by the thoroughness of her notes while Nymeria wondered how exactly Bull even managed to read his own handwriting. She ended up using Krem’s notes instead, which were much better anyway.

One thing was certain: Both firmly believed Briala was innocent.

Just as they were about to finish up, Nymeria’s phone buzzed:

**— Varric 11:55 am**

We got dibs, kiddo

“Yes!” Nymeria excitedly grinned under her breath.

“What?” Bull rose a brow. “What’s got you so excited?”

She looked up, grin stretched wide to the sides of her cheeks. “We got dibs on the Valmont case story.”

Hurriedly, she texted back:

**— Nymeria 11:56 am**

Really? How did you manage that??

I thought Orlais would have their eye on you if we claimed the Valmont story

**— Varric 11:59 am**

Well, lets just say Madame de Fer owed me a favor ;)

Go get em!

“Dibs?” Iron Bull asked, brow raised, when Nymeria looked back up.

“Yeah, our firm - er, our company, The Daily Inquisitor.” She nodded. “We’ve got first dibs. So as of today, all other news and media outlets can wait on your report. I am the one to get the details first, before anyone else.”

“Oh? And what makes you think I won’t just tell other reporters what we’ve got so far?”

She shrugged. “I mean, you can tell reporters what you want, but I’m the one who will report to Varric about the case. And he’s not going to let anything be broadcast without his consent...”

 _“Varric Tethras?”_ Krem asked. “You mean the famous author and reporter? Didn’t he write the tale of the Kirkwall Champion? And exploit the Darktown Deal a few years back?”

“That was ages ago, but yes. That’s him.” Nymeria nodded. “He’s my boss, so to speak.”

“He’s a part of the Dwarven Broadcasting Guild.” Krem explained to a visibly confused Iron Bull. “He owns almost all major broadcasting and publishing companies in Skyhold.”

“Oh,” Bull scratched his head. “So he’s in control of the media.”

“Simply put, but yes I suppose.” Nymeria sipped her coffee.

“It seems you know a lot of powerful people, Lavellan.”

“Just Nymeria, please.” She ignored his pensive stare and busied herself by rifling through their papers one more time.

Bull chuckled. “First the Hero of Orlais and Secret Services retiree Cassandra Pentaghast, and now Varric Tethras, owner and tycoon of a majority of Skyhold’s media services. How is it that you have friends in such high places, Nymeria?”

The way he said her name made her shiver.

“ _I_ have charm.” She replied smugly, retaining her cool.

“Well, I won’t deny that.” He winked, and it made her shift uncomfortably in her stool.

“Anyway, I think we’re done here.” Nymeria cleared her throat. “Unless you think we need to go over something else?”

“Nah, I think we’re good.” Bull nodded, serious again. “We’re on the same page. You’re a special witness to the case. Plus, it’s good to have one reporter with me. It throws off all the other reporters from hounding me all the time.”

‘Yeah, now they’ll be hounding _me_ instead.” Nymeria muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Better you than me. I can’t talk on the camera.”

“Yeah, the chief gets chronic foot-in-mouth disease when there’s a bunch of cameras and microphones shoved so far up his ass he can’t even walk.” Krem laughed.

“Shut up, Krem.” Bull shoved him. “Anyway Nymeria, we’ll have to improvise where we go from here.”

“Good. I say we double-down on those newspaper clippings we got from Florian’s case. I know it’s not a lot, but it’s better than nothing. He had those locked up and took them everywhere with him. It have a feeling it has to do with the case…”

“I’m not sure I agree with that. I think that might be a wild goose hunt. But maybe we should split up and re-”

_“Chief.”_

“What is it, Krem?”

“E-mail from the Valmonts. You two might want to rethink your plans today.”

Krem handed over Bull’s large tablet phone across the table.

There was a new email notification and Bull pressed on it: 

> **From: g.valmont@thedlink.orl**
> 
> Hello,
> 
> Thank you again for your help in the investigation. My family and I are eternally grateful for your help in apprehending the culprit responsible for claiming my uncle’s life. As you are aware, my uncle Florian Valmont was a famous, world-renowned artist of many talents and was critically-acclaimed to be one of the best artisans of his time. As such, we would like to extend to you a invitation to join us in a family dinner tomorrow evening to mourn the loss of a great and beloved man, as a thanks for all the hard word you and your team have provided for us in our hour of need.
> 
> Thank you again and we look forward to seeing you,
> 
> _Gaspard Valmont_
> 
> _Professional Photographer and Graphic Designer_

The address to their manor was tagged at the bottom of the email, along with a phone number and additional contact information.

 _Oh, please._ Nymeria rolled her eyes. _Who was Gaspard pretending to be in this e-mail? Florian Valmont had openly proclaimed his hatred and disapproval for Gaspard’s entire lifestyle. There was no need to sugarcoat it._

Bull handed the tablet back to Krem and turned to Nymeria:

“Well, I guess we can cancel any plans for tomorrow.”

“Wait, you want me to go with you?”

“Oh, was that not clear? Aren’t you going to accompany me in all matters related to the case from now on? Isn’t that what your boss wants?”

“Yes, but most of the time I have to draw up a legally-binding contract for you to sign first. It’s a sort of a disclosure agreement that signs off on the fact that I’ll be allowed to write on the case whatever I need as long as I stick with the truth, and you’ll only be required to give the basic necessities of the-”

“I don’t care about the legalities. Just draft the thing and I’ll sign it.” Bull yawned.

“Seriously?” She blinked.

“Yeah, now are you coming to this thing with me tomorrow or not, hot-shot? Free food, family drama, what’s not to like?”

“I would definitely like to go.” She smiled.

Bull sometimes felt too trusting to be a detective.

Or maybe that was all a ruse?

_Oh, if only he knew what her past entailed…_

“Huh.” Krem was looking through the news feed on the tablet.

“What is it now?” Bull asked as he swing his large coat over his wide shoulders.

“It seems the Orlesian Archaeological Society found the famed ‘Flawless Diamond’ among the ruins of Arlathan last week .” Krem put down the tablet to put his own jacket on.

“You’re awfully concerned with elvhen relics lately…” Bull muttered. “Does this have anything to do with the woman you’re dating? That elf with the red hair?”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to learn a bit more about your girlfriend’s culture.” Krem smirked. “You ought to try it sometime, chief. Maybe that’ll help you _keep_ a girlfriend every once in awhile.”

“Hey now, that cuts deep Krem.” Bull replied, albeit he was unable to hide his smile.

“Anyway, the gem's vertainly beautiful. They found it buried beneath rubbles during the excavation. The Dalish obviously have first rights to it considering it's a relic pertaining to their history. But I have a feeling with a gem this big, Fen’Harel will undoubtedly end up stealing it like he did the others.” Krem asked.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Nymeria sipped her coffee, checking off notes one last time.

“Especially after that riot near Wycombe City.” Bull noted. “Speaking of which, I read on your online biography that you’re from Wycombe City originally?”

Nymeria’s eyes widened slightly and she dropped her pen. She was temporarily speechless.

**_Wycome City._ **

**_That was where_ _it_ _happened._ **

_Bloody hands. Outstretched. Reaching towards her._

_Reaching towards her face._

_Desperate blue eyes. Soft blonde hair._

_Those long fingers seemed so far away now._

_So distant._

_“Remember…” He said. “Never forget.”_

_She tried to grab onto his hands, as if doing so might transfer some of her light to those dying eyes._

_“Ar lath…. ma.”_

_He spoke her name - her elvhen name - and his hand fell to the ground._

_Lifeless._

**_Dead._ **

**_And she sat there - in the dirt - alone._ **

“Hello?” Iron Bull’s hands waved in front of her. “Are you spacing out? Was it something I said? You mad because I know stuff about you that you didn’t want me knowing?”

“I’m fine. Just spaced out a sec.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Anyway - a human-elven riot, you said? Was this a part of the civil rights campaign?” She cleared her throat, regaining her composure.

“Yes. There were casualties in the latest one. But none major. No deaths at least.”

“Y’know, This could all easily be solved if the humans just gave back the elves their god-damned land and let them go about their business.” Bull rolled his eyes.

“Now _there’s_ a outlook you don’t hear everyday.” Nymeria pointed out.

_Bzzt. Bzzt._

Nymeria phone buzzed again and she pulled it out to see notifications of a large email. 

> **From: vtethras@dailyinq.org**
> 
> Hey,
> 
> So the Valmonts are holding a gallery opening at the Allemande Gallery tonight, south of the Frostbacks. You’ve probably already heard about it. If not, they’ve extended their invite to us. I’ve attached it for you.
> 
> The opening is tonight and it’s a huge event. Not the best move on their part considering their family head just passed, but apparently they’ve had the gallery booked for months.
> 
> Anyway, just wanted to give you a heads up. Expect to be fraternizing. Mingling. Socializing. You know, the whole nine yards of wines, cocktails, and so on. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, but bring the cop friend.
> 
> P.S. Wear something nice!

“They’re having a exhibition today? Gaspard’s email didn’t mention that. Are you sure this information is confirmed?” Krem asked.

“Varric hasn’t let me down before.” Nymeria shoved her phone in her back pocket and gathered her things.

“‘Cop friend’?” Bull rose a brow. “So we're friends now? What did you tell your boss about me, hm?”

She ignored him and replied to Krem instead: “Varric’s information comes from multiple sources. He has eyes practically all over Skyhold. Nothing is a secret for him.”

“That sounds terrifying.”

Nymeria laughed. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“Still, having an exhibition right after his uncle’s murder? This is all in poor taste, even for Orlesians”

“Well, when you’re rich you can do what you want.” Nymeria shrugged. “Being a decent person doesn’t matter as much, I suppose…”

They exited the cafe after paying their dues and Bull hailed a taxi (much easier than Nymeria could’ve at least).

Bull scratched his head. “I’m pretty sure fraternizing with the dead guy’s family bad is for publicity. As Deputy Chief I may not be allowed to go...”

“It may be bad for publicity. But it probably wouldn’t be that bad for detective work.” Nymeria winked.

“I like the way you think.” He grinned and looked at her as though he was proud of the words she just said.

“And if you can’t make it, maybe ask Krem to go?”

“You’ll need the protection.” Krem nodded to her. “That family probably has it in for you, Nymeria. Inviting you to their gallery opening is just a publicity stunt because they assume you’re on the lookout for anything to report. But inviting us to a dinner tomorrow is oddly suspicious. Chief, I think we should throw them off guard at the gallery reception and accompany her.”

Nymeria put her phone away and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Can’t you ask your superior if you can further investigate the Valmonts? I just checked the map online and the gallery is still in Skyhold PD’s jurisdiction.”

Bull scratched his head. “I’ll see if I can get in touch with Commander Cullen. But I might not get an immediate response.”

“Wait - Commander Cullen? Like, as in Fereldan PD?” Nymeria rose a brow. “You report to Fereldan PD Police Chief?”

“It’s a temporary position for Cullen. That’s why he’s always swamped.” Bull made a annoyed sound with his tongue. “Our last Chief of Police got himself blown up during a riot in the Red Lantern district - one of the elven riots involved blackpowder explosives that were undetected and he ended up getting blown up pretty bad. He’s not likely to return, so for now Commander Cullen has temporary remote authority of Skyhold PD. Trust me, we don’t like it either; it takes forever to get any paperwork done.”

“Why don’t you just take over in Skyhold?” Nymeria crossed her arms.

Krem laughed. “The Chief was practically the Chief of Police even before Renner got himself hospitalized. The only reason he’s only Deputy Chief is because Skyhold media would have a field day with news that a Qunari terrorist was in charge of protective services.”

“Well, don’t let that stop you.” Nymeria wrinkled her nose, frowning. “If you want to be the Chief of Police, then go for it Bull.”

“Nah, I’m pretty happy where I’m at.” Bull shook his head. “Better to remain at the sidelines than at the head.”

Nymeria snorted. “You? On the sidelines? You’re a 6-foot tall Qunari in a city full of humans and elves. I’d say you stand out pretty bad regardless.”

“You have a point.” Bull straightened up and stood from his chair. “But let’s get going to his art party or whatever. The faster we get this done the better…”

Nymeria shot him a apprehensive look and glanced at him up and down.

“You do know we’re going to extravagant gala sponsored by one the richest families from _Orlais,_ right?” She asked. “Is _that_ really what you’re going to wear?”


	12. Current Affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nymeria and Krem discuss politics. Bull and Nymeria go over notes and discuss their game plan.

**Skyhold Summer Bazaar Expo, Midtown Skyhold City, 6:57pm**

It took nearly two hours to get Bull to agree to wear something decent enough to attend the gala.

He insisted on wearing button-downs but only buttoned the bottom two clasps, leaving his chest bare to the public, something Nymeria tried to explain was not appropriate at the kind of event they were attending. When his fussing started to annoy Nymeria she rolled her eyes and pushed him into the dressing room anyway (Krem was thoroughly entertained throughout).

As he huffed his way into the dressing room for the umpteenth time that afternoon, Nymeria busied herself with the screen on her phone. Krem had gone to do a little shopping himself and told her to keep an eye on Bull.

 _Keep an eye on him? What am I, his keeper?_ She thought to herself, rolling her eyes.

He was theChief of Police for the entire city of Skyhold. _She couldn’t stop him even if she tried._

Yawning, she scrolled through yet another article on the status of current elvhen affairs:

> **_Fen’Harel Strikes Again: Fereldan Blackpowder Facility Robbed_ **
> 
> _The Redcliffe Blackpowder Facility was robbed last night by the notorious thief, Fen’Harel, and Fereldan Police are left baffled with no leads. The public is now demanding answers on the low security placed in the hazardous factory responsible for manufacturing much of Fereldan’s weaponry._
> 
> _Once again, Fen’Harel has become a tense subject for public relations between Fereldan and Orlais. Although Fereldan has much control over Vinmark Penitentiary, where the Evanuris are serving life in prison, Orlais has voiced their concern for the loose thief multiple times, especially following his infamous conquest of an ancient elvhen treasure from the Orlesian Fine Arts Museum three months ago._
> 
> _Chief of FPD Cullen Rutherford has declined to further comment on the situation._

_Great._ Nymeria rolled her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

Nymeria hadn’t realized Krem had come back from his short browse in the ‘Clearance’ section and nearly fell out of her stool in front of the dressing rooms.

“Nothing,” She replied, turning off her phone. “Just reading some news about the robbery in Fereldan.”

Krem snorted. “Which one?”

“You know, ‘the Dread Wolf’s latest conquest’.” She used air quotes.

Krem rose a brow and crossed his arms. “Oh, _that_ one. That _is_ serious. The robbing of the Fereldan Blackpowder Facility is a federal crime that can lead to a life sentence without parole…”

“Not that _that’s_ ever stopped Fen’Harel.” Nymeria frowned. “The fact that he’s robbing a Blackpowder facility isn’t a good sign though. Explosives can be smuggled anywhere nowadays, even on airplanes if you’re clever enough. _Definitely_ not a good sign...”

“I agree. Curious though: are you not an advocate of his?”

She stared at him, taken aback for a second. “No. Why do you assume I would be?”

“I don’t mean to offend you - I suppose I just assumed you’d be a advocate of Fen’Harel because - well, you know - you’re Dalish. From what I’ve read, Fen’Harel only means to take back the elvhen goods that have been lost to his people from the invasion.”

“At the expense of other innocent bystanders, you mean.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything of your character.” Krem quickly added. “I’m only recently gotten well-versed in Elvhen culture.”

“Because of your girlfriend?”

Krem shifted uncomfortably where he stood. “She’s not actually my girlfriend anymore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry…”

“Nah, don’t be. We had only gone out a few times.” Krem blushed slightly. “But I _am_ trying to learn more. You know, just to have something to talk about.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” Nymeria nodded. “Although, most Dalish condemn the Dread Wolf for his actions and hold him responsible for the fall of Elvhenan. If he hadn’t outed the Evanuris for corruption and their underground activities, they wouldn’t have been put away and Arlathan would not be under Imperium jurisdiction.”

“There’s some truth in that, I guess. But the Evanuris were also charged with corruption and orchestrated murder. Wait, or was it attempted murder?”

“Yeah, well…” She paused and looked pensive for a second. “I suppose the only thing I can applaud Fen’Harel for is raising awareness of the escalating elvhen-human relations.”

“Well said.” Iron Bull emerged from the dressing room, pulling his suit jacket over his shoulders again. “Besides, that case isn’t in our jurisdiction anyway.”

“Case? What case?” Nymeria asked.

“The robbery.” Bull replied. “The one you were reading about. Cullen called us about it this morning. But it’s not promising. No one’s been able to catch Fen’Harel. He’s a damned phantom thief. It would be like chasing after a shadow without knowing its source.”

“Well, if Fen’Harel’s got his hands on explosives no one’s safe. Remember Wycome City?”

Nymeria shuddered visibly.

 _Remember? I’ll never forget._ She wanted to say.

“Maybe the Elven Relations Ambassador will be able to contribute to our efforts? If we could all work together, it would be so much easier…” Krem shifted his weight.

“Easier said than done.” Nymeria stood and pulled her bag over her shoulder. “There is no appointed Elven Ambassador because the Dalish can’t come to terms with who to appoint.”

“Then who’s spearheading the elven operations?” Bull got in the checkout line. The benefits of shopping midday was the significantly shorter line. There was one two people in front of him.

“The Evanuris were responsible for creating the ongoing elven resistance rallies. They were powerful individuals - our politicians, albeit not acknowledged as such worldwide.”

“Hard to believe that was only 20 years ago…”

“This all sounds pretty damn dysfunctional to me. Maybe the elves were probably better off when the Evanuris were there to lead them. Now they barely have a place to live. Just have Tevinter give them back their damned land and be done with it.”

“Wow. Did you just say that? Can I get a direct quote on that for the papers tomorrow?” Nymeria nudged him, smirking.

Bull gave her a look of apprehension.

“I was kidding, lighten up.” She rolled her eyes again.

“Well, there’s the Elven Rights Council, right? We’ll be able to catch Fen’Harel with their help since they despise him. I’m sure they won’t want another elven city in danger’s way.”

“They’re unofficial. Plus, they offer no lucrative solution to the anti-elven agenda; their ideas are never cohesive or unified enough to get anything properly done for their people. We knew what was going on in Wycome City before it even happened. But that didn’t change anything.” There was as bitterness in Nymeria’s words.

”The Elven Rights Council members butt heads with each other often and would sooner create _more_ problems rather than solve the ones that currently exist.”

Bull noted this was the first time Nymeria spoke anything of her past. He pulled up to the counter without saying a word about it though.

“Eh, I’m not interested in all this political crap anyway. How do you even know this shit, Krem? Can’t have learned all _that_ from the news…”

Krem rolled his eyes. “My ex, you big lug.”

They were out of the department store under a minute. Nymeria was surprised Bull didn’t throw a fuss at the high price tag on his express tailored suit. It would’ve broken her piggy bank for the next three months. If it bothered him, Bull certainly didn’t show it.

Nymeria stared out the window as they drove, hand tucked under her chin. Buildings merged together before her eyes like a soft pastel painting. Her mind started to drift, mesmerized by the city’s colorfully blended light show.

“Anyway,” Bull studied the rearview mirror for a second. His drug-enforcement background made him feel weary that someone was following them, even though that was seldom ever the case. “I’m not interested in the robbery right now. I’d rather finish what we’ve got going on right now before we handle that.”

“Understood. I’ll keep you updated if Commander Cullen reports anything else.”

“Commander?”

“Cullen used to serve in the Fereldan Marines.” Bull told her. “He lived through the Fifth Blight in Fereldan too.”

“Oh, that’s terrible…”

“Yeah, but he has some good drinking stories.” Bull shrugged.

The radio blared on in Bull’s black sedan and Nymeria was trying to listen intently on any news of the current Valmont family situation.

 _The way the media’s covering the Valmont family, you’d think they were Antivan royalty…_ She rolled her eyes. _Then again, I guess they kinda are the Orlesian equivalent of royalty…. Especially if Celene secedes Clarisse’s position as President of Orlais..._

Bull interrupted her thoughts:

“Briala’s going to be staying downtown until there’s a proper hearing, by the way.”

“What? Why? Why have you got her locked up?” Nymeria replied, frowning. “You’ve got nothing on her!”

“Well, you can take that up to the Valmonts’ attorney.” Bull told her. “I tried to make my case for a defense, but I’m not a lawyer. Plus, Vivienne de Fer scares the hell out of me. I had a call from her this morning.”

Nymeria rolled her eyes. “So you’re keeping Briala in jail indefinitely? Without bail?”

“Bail, I believe, is set at ten thousand.” Bull replied.

“That’s absurd. No one could afford that!”

“I think that’s the point, Krem.” Bull sighed.

“Well, you’ve got me; I can help. Besides, we’ve got sufficient evidence to prove otherwise. This case isn’t as open-and-shut as Madame de Fer’s going to make it.” Nymeria told them.

“What have we got that will be enough to make a case for her?” Bull sounded skeptical.

“Well,” Nymeria went through her notebook. “There’s plenty of suspicious clues left at the scene of the crime. Want me to go through them?”

“Wouldn’t hurt, I suppose.”

“We can review everything on the way to the gallery.”

“Well, first off. The only clear clue pointing to Briala’s guilt is the brooch. The flower pin that was left near the door.”

“But it was clean and could’ve been planted there to frame her.”

“Exactly. Then, there’s the black plastic coated with Selenium, used for treating Tinea Versicolor.”

“That could be nothing.” Bull told her. “The lab results didn’t come back with Florian having used any though, even though he _does_ appear to have some eczema. But his condition wasn’t severe enough to use anything _that_ strong.”

“I’m more concerned with the black plastic we found. Could it have been something that broke off the murder weapon during their struggle?” Nymeria wondered aloud.

“We established the murder weapon was one of Reynaud woodworking knives.” Bull reminded her. “The precision of the wound and the size match the one he's missing too perfectly. It most definitely is the murder weapon.”

“So maybe the plastic was something that could be found on the murderer’s belongings?”

“If so, we didn’t find anything suspicious. Everything they had on them was harmless. I even checked the sharpest things in their bags - pens, needles, you name it.”

“So what happened to the woodworking knife? The murderer is one of the Valmonts. They were with us the entire time. They couldn’t have thrown it away while we searched the hotel.”

“Well, wherever it was hidden, it's probably gone by now.”

“Most likely. But we still have plenty of other things to go on.” Nymeria frowned. “And I have _a lot_ I want to follow up on.”

“Like what?” She saw Bull raise a brow in the rearview mirror.

“The newspapers Florian had on him are too suspicious. Why bring a bunch of old newspapers if you're going on a business conference and high key art auction? He had to have brought it for a reason.”

“Paparazzi, maybe? Or blackmail? They’re a prominent, rich, Orlesian family.” Krem pondered.

“Blackmail for whom? The firefighters? The photographs depict only good deeds being done.” Bull said pointedly.

“Well if the photos are staged, which seems plausible to me, then the Valmonts would have a scandal on the hands.” Nymeria looked through her photocopies of the articles found in Florian Valmont’s case.

“But what proof so you have that the photos are fake?” Bull asked her.

“None. Yet.” She told him.

“If it's really blackmail, then the only one this would hurt is the Valmont name, mainly Gaspard. Why would Florian have that on him? Even if he didn't approve of Gaspard's lifestyle, I'm sure Florian wouldn't want to sully the family name.”

Bull turned into the Skyohld Police Department parking lot and parked in his usual spot.

“I doubt Mantillon would even let him if he tried.” Nymeria replied, unclipping her seatbelt.

“Then maybe the clippings were information he collected from a potential client? Someone he met with earlier that day? Someone he made a deal with? Someone who was trying to get a rise out of him? Or blackmail the Valmonts? Maybe he paid off his blackmailer but the deed went south at the end?”

“Whoever would try that would have to be rich, ballsy, or incredibly stupid.”

“Either way, I agree. You have a good point. We’ll investigate the photos.”

She stared at him. _“We?_ I thought you didn’t think the clippings were important…”

“I had a night to think about it.” He told her. “Besides, if you’re going to try getting information on those fires, you’ll need me to access them at the station anyway.”

“You… have a fair point.” She acknowledged, following him into the Police Station.

"Alright then, we've got some time to kill before the exhibition. Let's plan this shit out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter! Been too busy with art!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! My handle is aristeiadeluca.


	13. The Art Gala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nymeria, Krem, and Iron Bull visit Gaspard's art gallery and make a ground-breaking discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting back into this and I hope I can finish it because I keep getting different case ideas for future fics! I have the tendency to get carried away with multiple fics but I never seem to finish any before starting another...

**Skyhold Police Station, Skyhold City, 8:05 pm**

Bull was trying really hard not to stare at Nymeria.

She was wearing a pear-colored dress with embroidered elvish designs that accented her hourglass figure perfectly. Her flawless skin was exposed at the back and gold chains decorated her collarbone and earlobes.

He was surprised she only took 15 minutes to get ready; Bull was used to women taking much longer. Nymeria hadn’t even asked him to take her home to get ready - she just hopped into the bathroom at the police station and 15 minutes later casually walked out looking like a exquisite diamond.

But that wasn’t why he couldn’t take his eyes off her; he had seen plenty of beautiful women before. Nymeria was no different.

No, what had been distracting him was the scar he had caught a glimpse of while she got ready. From what he had seen in a few split seconds, the scar spanned the length of her thigh to her right ribcage. It was a brown and discolored patch of skin.

_Definitely at least a second-degree burn._

He couldn’t help himself; he was a detective. And he was slowly putting a lot of pieces of her puzzle together.

The way she shuddered whenever they mentioned Wycombe City. The way her eyes dilated slightly at the sight of those newspapers detailing the fires. Her desire to train in the boxing ring with her friend.

It all made sense the more he thought about it:

**_She had been in that fire. She had been one of the survivors of the Wycome City fire._ **

“Hello? Why are you staring at me like that?”

Her voice brought him back to reality.

“You’re making me feel self-conscious.” She looked down at her ensemble. “Is it too much or something? Be honest.”

“No, no, no…” He cleared his throat. “I was just spacing out. Sorry.”

“Well, let’s keep ourselves focused, alright _Chief?”_

 _Ah, there was the condescending tone again._ He rolled his eyes internally.

“You know, not many people would ask a Qunari to come to their art gala or dinner party. What do people usually say during these things anyway?”

“Just relax and act normal.” She told him under her breath.

He shot her a look: “So do you want me to relax or act normal?”

“Haha, very funny. Come on, let’s go.”

* * *

**Allemande Gallery, Southern Frostbacks,  8:30 pm**

The good thing about going to an art gallery was that there was always something to talk about. Making small talk was almost not even required to start a conversation, especially since the majority of the guests were Orlesian and they _loved_ talking about their extended knowledge in multiple art forms like there was some sort of competition in artistic knowledge and prowess at these events.

“Ah, yes. I believe it is lined with dyed velveteen. The drapery is sewn with the finest Orlesian silk and embroidered with a Chasind insignia for that exotic look. The colors are a bit on the wilder side, but it gives off a certain charm for one interested in more native aesthetics.”

“And the mural above it? It looks exquisite and _the colors_! The colors you chose are so bright!”

“Yes, that’s a mixed media piece I finished last year. I used dawnstone with oil and glass glaze varnish over too.”

“It certainly looks - “

“It’s beautiful.” Bull looked on in genuine awe.

“Oh! Thank you, sir. Actually, you might be interested in this, Iron Bull - it is actually imported Qunari fused glass.”

Nymeria would’ve been inclined to take photos on her phone but she had already taken several that would be more than sufficient for the report. She sent a few interesting pieces to Merrill, who she knew would be ecstatic.

**—Merrill 9:22 pm**

Isn’t that the Illuvian from the Sabrae Clan? How is it possible that it’s at your gala? The Keeper has it in the Museum of Elven History! Is she there with you?

**—Nymeria 9:25 pm**

No hahaha calm down. It’s a iron replica of the real thing. You can tell because the fronds on the end are that frilly Orelsian design instead of the natural dalish one. Gaudy, isn’t it?

**—Merrill 9:26 pm**

Oh! Well im sure their version is lovely too :)

**—Merrill 9:27 pm**

Oh! Also don’t forget to find out the price for the ceramic piece i asked you about!

Since the auction never happened just let me know the selling price and i’ll contact my boss about obtaining it from them!

Thanks lethallan! <3

Merrill was so kind to everything and everyone. Nymeria smiled.

Her phone buzzed again.

**—Varric 9:27 pm**

Nice pics. But be sure to mingle with the folks. Don’t just look at the art!

**—Nymeria 9:27 pm**

It IS a art gallery, Varric. You’re supposed to be focused on the art.

**—Varric 9:28 pm**

You know what I mean. Ask them questions and see if they get stirred up. You know the drill, Ms. Wycome-City-Defense-Attorney-for-six-years-straight

**—Nymeria 9:29 pm**

Ya know, I regret telling you that...

“I take it you’ve received our invitation for dinner tomorrow?”

“Hm?” Nymeria looked up to see Clarisse Valmont, a glass of white wine in her hand, approaching with a sway to her hips. She wore a dark red gown with diamonds embroidering the hem.

“Yeah. I mean, yes. We have.” Bull replied from behind Nymeria, startling her.

Nymeria tucked her phone away and ignored the buzzing.

“Good. I will see you there, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bull looked incredibly out of his element. Nymeria wanted to laugh, but then again she was not fond of idle talk either. The only joy she gathered from attending these events was occasionally meeting someone that actually piqued her interest enough for the evening, and getting to wear one of her more extravagant dresses. Despite her casual demeanor and tomboy-ish behavior, she still enjoyed dressing up to look pretty.

“Ms. Lavellan, you will be joining us?”

“Well, I wasn’t aware I was invited. But I will attend to pay my respects if allowed.”

“Please, join us. I know you didn’t know my brother for long and my family was not the warmest bunch. But I would appreciate it if you joined us. My daughter and I would like to have you at our manor.” Clarisse spoke gently. “And we still have much to discuss.”

“Regarding the case, you mean?”

“Yes.” Clarisse lowered her eyes. “I have… some things I want to discuss with the both of you… alone.”

Nymeria frowned and shifted her weight on her heels.

“I am a reporter. Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, I am sure. Lady Mantillon likes being cautious; do not mind her, dear.” Clarisse said. “Please join us, both of you. There are important matters we want to discuss regarding Florian’s will and Briala. Needless to say, I’d rather not discuss them here.”

“I understand completely.” Nymeria nodded. “We will see you there.”

“Thank you.” Clarisse nodded. “Oh, and Gaspard - please make sure we cut back on the Blood Lotuses this time. And have the gardener take care of those rashvines outside on the east wall. I’m going home for the evening. Good night, my dears.”

Gaspard turned to her, face slightly sweating, and nodded.

“What do you think she wants to discuss?”

“Other than Briala’s sentence and Florian’s will?”

“Yes, there was a gleam in her eye when she spoke.” Nymeria turned to Bull. “You saw it too, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” He frowned. “I think she knows something and wants to tell us when we’re alone.”

“Exactly.” Nymeria crossed her arms. “You don’t suppose she knows who did it, does she?”

“Well, there’s no way to know for sure until we talk to her.” Bull shrugged.

“Still, we should be wary of anything she says. She _is_ a politician after all.”

“Clarisse Valmont may be innocent in this case, but remember that incident with Gaspard’s wife last year? It hasn’t exactly made her campaign go smoothly.”

“Maybe we ought to ask her now - before she leaves the premises.” Nymeria suggested.

“Wouldn’t that seem too obvious and suspicious?” Krem countered. “We don’t want to look desperate.”

“Yes, but I’m impatient.” Nymeria sighed. “And if she really knows something, it’s best we get it out of her as soon as possible.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Bull nodded. “Let’s catch up to her before she leaves the -”

Bull turned to catch up to Clarisse Valmont but bumped into a unamused Lady Mantillon instead.

“Oh. Ms. Lavellan.” Lady Mantillon looked at her as though she had just swallowed a bug. “I see you and… your friends... are still here.” The tone of disdain was not hidden well, or at all really.

“Yes, we are.” Nymeria replied dully.

“I will be flying out tomorrow night to attend an important business meeting for the family. Please make sure you and your colleagues do not slander the Valmont family name while I’m gone.” She wrinkled her nose in disdain.

“I assure you, I will try not to.” Nymeria replied with equal disdain. She didn’t care if Mantillon didn’t like her; and she certainly wanted it known that the feeling was mutual.

Mantillon gave them one last look of contempt before shuffling off with her entourage for another part of the exhibition.

“Well, there goes Clarisse Valmont’s Audi.” Krem pointed out the large windows of the gala. There was a black Audi A6 speeding out the driveway.

“We wouldn’t have made it even if we tried.” Bull sighed. “We can talk to her tomorrow, I suppose.”

“In the meantime, I’d like to take a look at Gaspard’s work.” Nymeria told them. “I’ve wanted to take a closer look at them for a while now.”

“That’s a good idea,” Iron Bull nodded. “Because every time Krem or I try to get close to it, he tries to sidetrack us into looking at another part of the exhibition. I wandered around there multiple times but he keeps trying to talk to me instead to redirect my attention.”

“Definitely suspicious.” Nymeria frowned. “Let me have a look instead.”

“I’ll go with you.” Krem held out his arm for her. “Shall we, my lady?”

Nymeria giggled and Iron Bull rolled his eyes.

“I guess I’ll just stay here and wait for you guys then…” He murmured.

“Just stay by those dawnstone tapestries you like so much.” Krem laughed.

Gaspard’s corner of the gallery was decorated with large silver plaques with his name hanging above the ceiling in silver-plated letters. There was also a large sign warning viewers of the explicit and mature nature of his photographs before entering the sectioned-off area.

Nymeria and Krem managed to squeeze through to the main area of Gaspard’s exhibition. All of his works were framed with onyx heavyset frames and tempered glass panels. The spotlight was on several of his larger works in the center and the crowd was loud and boisterous, singing Gaspard praises and congratulating him on his numerous accolades.

“He’s pretty popular, huh?”

“Yes, that’s seems to be the case…” Krem was a lot more put-together for these events than either Nymeria or Iron Bull, it seemed. “I just overheard a lady offering to pay him over a million for that large piece on the right.”

“I don’t know, I’m still suspicious of these…” Nymeria wrinkled her nose.

She looked over the large photographs hanging on the walls. The colors were vibrant and flames were definitely worthy of praise and discussion. However, Nymeria couldn’t help but feel skeptical of the integrity of the photographs.

 _Maybe it’s just because you were involved in the past with a terrible fire,_ she told herself. _Maybe Gaspard is just innocent and you’re just reaching for something that isn’t truly there. Maybe Florian just had clippings of the fires throughout the area because he wanted to be proud of his nephew's photography._

“Oh, let’s turn back.” Krem said suddenly, his hand on her shoulder.

“What, why?” She asked quizzically. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, I just…” He looked at her for a second. “I don’t think we should see anymore of these gruesome shots. They’re a bit explicit, aren’t they?”

“We just looked at about twenty of them with charred bodies, Krem.” She smiled. “I’m fine, but if you’re uncomfortable we can turn back.”

“I’m not - I mean, I just thought maybe you would be.”

“Me?” She smiled. “That’s sweet of you, Krem. But I’ll be fine.”

“I just -” Krem looked at her for a second and took a deep breath. “I just thought i ought to warn you: there are photographs of the fires in Wycome City six years ago right behind you.”

**_WHAT?_ **

Nymeria snapped back around to stare.

There was a huge wall filled with shot after shot of the fires that gripped her home years ago.

Now she could see why Krem wanted to keep them from her. There were explicit details in the photos that showed the flames engulfing entire houses and the terrified faces of citizens scattering off in all directions. Some had large burn and scorch marks on their faces. Some had fires that hadn’t even been put out yet while they ran. There were people with their skin melted off, literally, in the photos - screaming in agony and crying in pain.

Nymeria could still hear their screams in her head to this day. And it was the weirdest feeling to see the event from a photograph when she had actually been _in_ the fire. These photographs were dull in comparison to the actual thing. She had lost everyone she ever loved to this fire.

And now there were a bunch of rich bureaucrats lined up around a photograph of it with their purses and wallets in their hands.

_Gaspard was making a fortune on the misfortune of her people._

Her fists turned white next of her hip and she found herself shaking uncontrollably.

“I didn’t want you to…” Krem had his hand on her back. “Are you alright?”

“What?” She looked at him, her eyes slightly glossy. “I’m… I’m fine.”

“We can leave if you’d like.”

“I’m fine. Really, Krem.” She turned to him once she had regained her posture, and looked at him with her brows raised. “But why did you - I mean, how did you know?”

“The chief had a suspicion.” Krem told her. “He mentioned it to me and I guess I just believed him. He’s usually right with his hunches.”

“He knew?” She asked. “He knew I was a survivor?”

“Well, he mentioned you were a bit uncomfortable at the mention of Wycombe City and pieced some of it together after he read up about Clan Lavellan.”

“I should give him more credit.” She smiled.

“Should we leave?”

“No, I’d like to stay to look at a few more.” She told him. “Besides, listening to Gaspard speak about his luck might give me some insight into how he’s so lucky with these photographs…”

“Good idea.” Krem nodded.

They closed in to the large crowd to get a better idea of what Gaspard was talking about to his admirers:

“I’m glad you find them as intriguing as I do!” Gaspard exclaimed. “In most cases you’ll want to use a fast enough shutter speed to freeze motion in order to see the detail in the flame. As always, “fast enough” is relative to what you’re shooting, but a good starting point is around 1/250 or faster. As your shutter speeds increase you’ll need to use wider apertures and higher ISOs…”

“The juxtaposition of the firemen with the window and victims are lined up so well! And the colors are truly vibrant. It really depicts the perfect scene of rescue and you’ve captured it beautifully, Gaspard!”

Melisandre's shrilll voice could be heard amongst the crowd: “Oh, did you hear that darling? I’m so proud of you!”

“Yes, mother. If I’m lucky my career will finally be lifting off!”

“How can you say that when uncle Florian’s just passed?” Celene replied icily as she too joined the fray.

“Why, he’s already passed, Celene. There’s nothing we can do about that. Nothing will bring him back! Besides, he should be happy I’m honoring his death with such a successful contribution to the art world!”

“You’re using his space in the gala for your own work! You haven’t even displayed anything by uncle Florian!” Celene frowned. It was the first time Nymeria had seen her getting angry.

“His pieces are in the back. I’m sure we can put some out when my photograph sell.” Gaspard scoffed. “Besides, the money I make from this can go to your campaign, auntie Clarisse.”

“I have no need for further finance now that the campaign in coming to an end. At this point, only the voters can determine who sits on the seat in Val Royeax next month.”

“I’m sure you’ve got the election in the bag, Clarisse.” Melissandre sipped her wine. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Krem and Nymeria. “Oh my! Our reporter friend is here! Hurry up and come over, Ms. Lavellan! You absolutely must write an article on what wonderful pieces Gaspard has in the gala tonight! He’s already sold over three dozen pieces!”

“Congratulations.” Krem replied.

“Yes.” Nymeria replied begrudgingly. “Unfortunate to say, I’m not _that_ kind of journalist, Lady Melisandre.”

“Well, just make sure to let your boss know that wonderful artistic flair my son has!” Melissandre laughed. It was quite evident that she had just a little too much to drink tonight (not that Nymeria blamed her; After all, Melissandre had only recently learned that her husband had married her for her fortune.)

“Who is that?” Nymeria gestured to the picture in the corner behind Melissandre. No one seemed to be paying as much attention to these pictures as they were just regular graphite drawings and not Gaspard’s well-known photography.

“Oh, the portrait? That’s Evangeline. Our cousin.” Celene replied. “She was uncle Florian’s daughter. The woman right beside her is my aunt Justinia. She also passed shortly after Evangeline died of the Blight.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry…”

“It was about five years ago. Uncle Florian never recovered from their deaths…”

“I can only imagine what that must’ve been like...”

“Gaspard and Evangeline were actually really close.” Celene smiled off into a distance. “They played together and hung out at his studio all the time. He drew this portrait of the two of them for Uncle Florian years ago.”

“That was sweet of him.” Nymeria smiled.

“Yes, it was...”

“Too bad Uncle Florian tossed it out the window when I gave it to him.” Gaspard interjected, his voice filled with contempt.

“Gaspard!” Lady Mantillon’s voice startled him.

“What? I’m only stating the truth.” He shrugged, his nose upturned.

“We’re in public, Gaspard. Take care not to air our dirty laundry in the face of strangers. Think of your aunt’s presidential campaign and our family name! The Valmont name is to be respected! Do not raise your voice for all to hear!”

“Yes of course Lady Mantillon.” Gaspard straightened his tie and cleared his throat.

“And you two,” Mantillon turned to Krem and Nymeria. “You would do well to stay out of our family affairs!”

“They were just asking who the people in the lovely drawing were, Lady Mantillon.” Celene explained.

Nymeria turned back to the graphite piece (or was it charcoal?). The portrait was done with technique, though it lacked finesse and clearly was not up to par with Gaspard’s photographs. Near his graphite drawing was a family photo showing the happy Valmont family together, with Florian Valmont in the center. Celene and Evangeline stood on each side wearing similar white-lace dresses while the rest of the family stood around them.

There was an eerie sense of fakeness to the entire thing, especially since Nymeria knew so much about the family that the photo indicated otherwise. Melissandre wore a dress that was the shade of a dark mauve, and Gaspard had his hand on her shoulder, most likely to show off the gaudy ring on his middle finger.

“He’s so talented!” One of the ladies in the crowd whispered behind them. “I wouldn’t even think to photograph a fire! I’d just run!”

 _Well, you’re instinct is right._ Nymeria thought to herself.

“He’s either extremely lucky or he knows someone from the fire department who can tell him where the next fire truck is headed.” Krem muttered.

“I doubt he has many friends in that department.” Nymeria replied. “Besides, he doesn’t seem the kind of mingle with the Fire Department Chief.”

“Good point.” Krem nodded again. “Let’s take another look and then get going. I don’t want the Chief to get tired of waiting and complain all the way home.”

“Does Iron Bull really do that?”

“All the time.” Krem rolled his eyes.

“Oh look at this one!” A guest pointed to another photograph of the Wycombe City fire as they were passing.

“He has a good eye for composition!”

“He’s certainly a lucky passerby.”

 _Too lucky for my taste._ Nymeria frowned as she looked down at the plaque below the photograph.

‘Local shelter Burned Down in Fire.’

_What a coincidence that he just happened to be all the way in Wycome City._

_Coincidence?_

_No way._

_There was no way all of this was a coincidence._

_Florian knew._

_Florian knew these were no coincidence._

**_The clippings._ **

She remembered the clippings in his suitcase.

The titles flashed before her as she recalled: _Local Fire in Arlesans Breaks Out!, Montsimmard: Local Firefighter Saves 5 Children from Mysterious Explosion, The Fereldan Times: Local Shelter in Downtown Denerim Meets a Gruesome End -_

**_Maybe even the Wycome City Fire._ **

_Did Gaspard have anything to do with the fire six years ago?_ Nymeria gritted her teeth. _I have to know. I have to know the truth._

There was more to this. There had to be.

**_“Nymeria! Krem!”_ **

Bull’s thunderous voice could be heard from the opposite side of the gala.

As they made their way to him, Nymeria was still stuck in her own thoughts. 

Then, something clicked in her head:

_It was so obvious._

_The fire. The photographs._

**_Plus, that thing Clarisse said earlier!_ **

Nymeria’s heart started beating faster.

**_It all made sense now!_ **

Gaspard was first on her suspects list.

But she needed proof.

Which meant she had to do some investigating.

“What are you thinking about, Nym?” Bull asked her, waving his hand in front of her face.

“The last fire he photographed.” Nymeria asked. “That was in Arlesans, right?”

“Yeah, I think so…” Krem replied. “It was pretty bad. Only a few survivors and they had to be hospitalized for weeks…”

“Why you asking?” Bull rose a brow. “You still on Gaspard?”

“Yeah, more now than ever.” She told him, a fire burning in her eyes. It almost looked scary, but Bull wasn’t about to say anything about it. He was more intrigued by her than anything else.

“Care you explain?”

“I’ll explain in the car.” She motioned for them to follow her out.

“Well, I was called in to inspect the fire since the commissioner was on vacation during that one.” Bull told her.

“Really? What do you know about it then?” She asked eagerly.

“Well, the Orlesian police think it was an unfortunate, but scathless accident.”

“What exactly was the cause of fire?”

“I don’t remember the details but it apparently started in the kitchen sink.”

They headed out of the gallery, the valet bowed and went to fetch their car from the garage.

“If you’re interested, we can head over to the fire station tomorrow to ask your questions.” Bull told her. “You’ll need me to get clearance into the commissioner’s office though.”

“So I’m stuck with you, huh?”

“‘Fraid so.” He grinned.

“Well, I don’t really mind your company.” She told him, hands behind her back as they waited. “In fact, I’d like that very much.” She smiled. 


	14. Friend of Red Jenny

**Arlesans Fire Department, Arlesans, Orlais, 11:25am**

Nymeria’s phone beeped for the umpteenth time that morning:

**—Cassandra P. 11:22 am**

Spoke to Farris. He should be ready for you.

**—Nymeria 11:22 am**

You’re the best! Thanks Cass! <3

It took almost no convincing on Nymeria’s part to persuade Cassandra to pull some strings and get deputy commissioner Farris of the Arlesans Fire Department to meet with Iron Bull and Nymeria that morning. She was eager to get Nymeria on the right track, especially since Cassandra expressed her own suspicions in a number of the fires that were in question.

Meanwhile, Iron Bull had been texting Krem back and forth that morning, trying to convince his second-in-command to meet them.

**—Iron Bull 11:26 am**

What gives? I thought you were on your way

**—Krem Brulee 11:25 am**

Nah, i’d just get in the way

**—Iron Bull 11:26 am**

Are you sick today or something? Or playing hooky to go on a date?

**— Krem Brulee 11:27 am**

No. Trust me, I'd rather not be there after last night

**—Iron Bull  11:28 am**

What’s that supposed to mean?

What are you talking abotu?

**—Krem Brulee 11:30 am**

Yesterday night

Don’t pretend

**—Iron Bull  11:31 am**

I don’t know what you’re talking about

**—Krem Brulee 11:32 am**

You two were clearly flirting last night on the way home

Trust me

I know when im a third wheel, chief

**—Iron Bull  11:32 am**

She was just talking about work stuff

**—Krem Brulee 11:32 am**

Riiiight.

I must’ve imagined the whole ‘i don’t mind hanging out with you’ thing

With the wink in her eye as she said it

Whatever

Just have fun today, chief.

Meet me and grim on the Phoenix server later tongiht

And don’t screw things up

**—Iron Bull  11:32 am**

I don’t know what youre talking about

I never screw things up

…

Did she say she liked me to you or soemthing?

Krem?

Hello?

hellooo?

**—Krem Brulee 11:35 am**

If you like her, then ask her out

After the case is over that is

Don’t fuck it up like last time

You stupid lug

Bull rolled his eyes and shut off the screen to his phone.

Nymeria was on her phone leaning against the counter and waiting with the receptionist for Deputy Commissioner Farris to get out of his previous meeting.

_Did he like her?_

The answer to that was complicated. Bull’s sexual history was littered with strings of purely physical conquests with no emotional baggage.

Did he feel something different with Nymeria? It was difficult to know because he didn’t really know her that well. They had only just met. At a crime scene.

He had, however, been in only **one** serious relationship before her.

 _I wonder how Dorian is…_ He wondered. _Maybe I should give him a call?_

No, Dorian wanted nothing to do with Bull. Not after Bull decided to break things off with him.

Dorian had wanted to move in with Bull and start a lease together. They had been together for a little over a year but for some reason the idea of moving in with Dorian caused Bull to suddenly feel trapped and unsteady. So at the end of the year mark, Bull had decided to break things off with Dorian, much to the latter’s dismay. Although heartbroken, Dorian took it all pretty well. Bull walked away feeling like a jackass though, and Krem never ceased reminding him how much of an ass he had been to Dorian since then.

To Bull, it had all been purely physical. He hadn’t thought of anything beyond that with Dorian. The emotional attachment was what caused Bull to suddenly second-guess their 'arrangement' and break things off. Bull knew he'd end up feeling trapped if he continued on with their relationship. He just couldn’t live with someone he only cared for as a friend for the rest of his life, and at this point, Bull had all but given up on ever finding anyone that would make him feel carefree and unchained.

Nymeria was just another woman that he just met. It was too early to tell.

Yes, they had been slightly flirty with each other last night (especially on the ride back), but that didn’t really mean anything. They were, at least for now, work acquaintances. It wouldn’t look good for either of them to be anything other than work associates. Especially since she was a reporter for a renowned media outlet.

“I hope this is worth it. For all you know it was just some old newspaper Florian read on his way to work.” He told her as he joined her in the waiting area. She had been rereading the article found in Florian’s suitcase.

“That wouldn’t make any sense for a man of Forian’s stature. Why would he read a newspaper that was several months old? A businessman like Florian would’ve wanted to stay up-to-date on current events, not get hung up on events in the past.”

“You make a valid point. Let’s just make sure the Valmonts don’t catch wind of our snooping.”

“Of course.”

_“Hello there. You must be The Iron Bull.”_

They looked up to see the secretary motion to them to come closer to the receptionist desk.

“Yep.” He shook her hand firmly.

“Please, right this way.”

She guided them through a series of hallways until they ended up in a large oval office with a middle-aged elven man sitting in a black leather chair. He was signing off on some papers and looked up as they entered.

“Please take a seat.” He told them as the secretary left and closed the door behind them.

“Mrs. Pentaghast told me you two might pay a visit. And don't take this the wrong way, but you're kinda hard to miss.” He motioned to Iron Bull.

“Yeah, the horns usually give it away. So, what’s the deal with the Arlesans Shelter Fire?” Iron Bull cut to the chase. He didn’t know if it was due to what Krem had texted earlier today or if he was just in one of his ‘business’ modes, but he wanted to get this over with quickly.

“Oh boy. What a mess. Total pissing match. We had the Orlesian Police Department on our ass, orders from three different departments, and pressure from so many members of the Orlesian Senate it felt like the fiasco in Ostagar!”

“But there was something different about this one, wasn’t there?” Nymeria had her notebook out and was jotting down notes.

“You got that right. I mean you know how it is; I hear you used to be on the field in the Free Marches.”

Bull looked over at Nymeria curiously but she didn’t meet his eyes and was instead focused on Officer Farris.

“Sure, there's always cases where you see the lazy officers taking shortcuts. But this... this was different. Too much stuff got overlooked. People seemed way too eager to jump to conclusions and every time I was remotely insistent, and I got turned down by ranking officers. People wanted to bury this thing... fast. “

“That's never a good sign.” She replied, frowning.

“Yeah well, that's where you come in. I got a couple of leads I could never fully investigate. I started poking around, but these government type agents just gave me the creeps. “

“You got scared.” Bull nodded.

“Alright, I’ll admit to that.” At least Farris was honest. Bull could tell that he was the honorable sort. “I was months away from retirement, I didn't want to fuck things up. But you... you two obviously have the means to get to the bottom of this.”

Nymeria turned to Bull and smirked.

“Sounds like fun: Reopening a closed case, going against the superiors, snooping around, and possible trespassing. Where do we sign up?” She asked Farris.

“Good, you have a sense of humor. Hold onto that, Lavellan. First off, there's a rumor that the order to close the investigation came from higher up, maybe even outside the Orlesian Police Department. Anything like that would have passed through Captain de Montfort. Here’s the case files for the fire. His computer might hold more details though.”

“Are you... asking us to hack into his computer?” Nymeria rose a brow.

“No! Just... just try to find out what he knows. You can find him in the Information Tech Lab. He doesn’t budge easily, but he has a strong inclination for - um, you know - your kind, so he might be willing to slip up.”

“His kind? You mean the Qunari?” Nymeria asked, unblinking.

“Yeah. He’s big into Qunari culture. Even knows a bit of Qunlat.”

“Oh? Okay then, I guess I could try distracting him while you find what he has on the case.” Bull suggested.

Farris handed Nymeria a small business card with a number sprawled on the back in black ink: “When the order came down to close the case, the bulk of the evidence was stashed in _that_ storage locker. Maybe you can find some interesting stuff in there, Lavellan. The code is forty-eight ninety-one.”

“Thank you, commissioner.” Nymeria stood up to shake his hand.

“Bah. It's, it's nothing. I'm glad to help.”

“Have a good day, commissioner.”

Bull opened the door to exit and Nymeria followed.

“That was insightful,” He told her as they walked out to the lobby. “Let’s see what’s in that locker first.”

“Good idea. I’ll go see about the locker and his computer, and you go visit de Montfort on the third floor labs.”

“Wait, his computer?” Bull rose a brow, and she couldn't tell if he was giving her a disapproving look or a excited one.

"Of course," she replied. "Farris said there are details on the case stored on Montfort's computer. We need to take a look at them, don't we?"

"That's illegal, young lady."

"Are you being serious? I can't tell?" She stared at him closely. "Don't you want to get to the bottom on this?"

Bull grinned. "I like the way you think. I'll go to the tech labs. But how are you going to get into his computer? Are you going to tell me that you're also a expert hacker?"

"No, nothing like that."

"You sure? You're not like Lady Nightingale or something?"

“No, I promise."

"How are you gong to take care of it then?"

"Just trust me; I’ll find a way into his computer.” She replied mischieviously.

He rose a brow. “How?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“How about you tell me now?”

“It’s… complicated.”

“I need honesty in all things regarding the case, Ms. Lavellan.” He crossed his arms. She hated it when he called her ‘Ms. Lavellan. She suspected that was why he called her that in the first place.

She groaned. “Just… it’s a complicated process.”

“Hacking into someone’s computer is already a pretty good breach in protocol… If I can turn a blind eye to you doing _that,_ then I think I can handle whatever else you’ve got under your sleeve.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll let you know.” She acquiesced. “You ever heard of the Red Jenny?” She asked, grinning.

* * *

  **— Jenny 12:29 pm**

Got it in 3.5 seconds

**—Nymeria 12:29 pm**

Thanks a bunch

**— Jenny 12:30 pm**

Uploading now. Easiest job you ever gave me honestly

**— Nymeria 12:30 pm**

I thought it would be a piece of cake for you

**— Jenny 12:30 pm**

Not much on the computer though

Just a few boring documents

What you need this for anyway

**— Iron Bull 12:31 pm**

Classified Police business

**— Jenny 12:31 pm**

WTF

WHO THE F IS THIS

AARE YOU WORKING WITH THE FEDS

WTF NYMERIA?!?!

UR IN LEAGUE WITH THE DEPUTY CHIEF OF SKYHOLD POLICE

**— Nymeria 12:32 pm**

CALM DOWN

Bull I told you to butt out

It’s all for a case we’re working on

**— Jenny 12:32 pm**

FINE FINE

But i’m trusting you on this one

That Florian guy’s got some guy he hired for this cover up

It’s so good too

I ought to charge ya double for this info

**— Nymeria 12:32 pm**

You got the address of the PI Florian hired?

**— Jenny 12:33 pm**

yep

546 Hannigan Ave

And now you owe me

Big time

“So according to the report, the call to the fire department came in that night at 9:00 pm. By the time Farris and his men rushed to the shelter, it was 9:20pm.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Yes, but look at these photos I got from the storage locker. See how the burn starts over here and ends there? You can see where they sprayed first to put out the flames. The length and darkness of these burn marks indicate that the entire building only took about 10 minutes to spread and incinerate the majority of the building.”

“So you think he made an anonymous call to the fire department, set up his fire trick, and then took pictures right as the fire department arrived?

“Makes sense, doesn’t it? It takes no more than three minutes to get to the bridge where he would’ve taken these photos. And look - there’s blood lotus extract here. See?”

“That definitely makes what Clarisse said last night all the more obvious.” Bull nodded.

“Exactly.”

> _“Yes, I am sure. Lady Mantillon likes being cautious; do not mind her, dear.” Clarisse said. “Please join us, both of you. There are important matters we want to discuss regarding Florian’s will and Briala. Needless to say, I’d rather not discuss them here.”_
> 
> _“I understand completely.” Nymeria nodded. “We will see you there.”_
> 
> _“Thank you.” Celene nodded. “Oh, and Gaspard - please make sure we cut back on the Blood Lotuses this time. And have the gardener take care of those rashvines outside on the east wall. I’m going home for the evening. Good night, my dears.”_
> 
> _Gaspard turned to her, face slightly sweating, and nodded._

“They way he reacted makes more sense now!” Nymeria explained. “Clarisse knows that Gaspard set up these flames. She knows how he did it!”

“Rashvine and Blood Lotus extract makes what is known as Antivan fire.” Iron Bull nodded to himself. “He probably set up his trick and then waited for the fire to start.”

“I wonder what that circle on the table is…” He pointed in the photograph.

“Hm?”

Sure enough, on the charred area of the shelter’s kitchen counter was a crisp, clean circle on a charred marble surface. Nymeria hadn’t seen any additional items in the storage locker that could’ve indicated that a pice of evidence was taken from the scene of the crime.

“This is baffling.” She said as they walked through the parking lot. “You think the PI knows something about it?”

“Yep, and I’m willing to bet on it.” Bull pulled out his keys.

“So nothing from du Montfort, huh?” She asked him as they got in Bull’s police car. “All I found in the case files from the locker was a few photographs and a detailed report on the incident. Nothing else. ”

“No, du Montfort was pretty chatty though. He likes hunting and wants me to go with him. I told him I was busy. I don’t really care for mingling with bureaucrats.”

“We need to find this guy Florian hired to cover up all the evidence against Gaspard. Red Jenny said it was on Hannigan Ave, right?”

“Yeah,” As Bull pulled out of the parking lot he shot her a look. “You want to tell me how you know a member of one of the most notorious hacker gangs?”

“Chill out, dude.” Nymeria snorted. “She’s a friend. And she wouldn’t do anything dangerous to us.”

“The Red Jenny was responsible for hacking into the Denerim Blackpowder Facilities last year. For all you know, they’re in league with Fen’Harel!”

“Listen, I know what I’m getting into. Trust me. I know this girl and I know a good deal about the Red Jenny organization too. They’re just a few hackers who want to dish out a little justice of their own to snotty bureaucrats that prey on the weak and impoverished. They’re kids, Bull. They are only threatening to those higher up on the food chain who deserve it.”

“Is that your stance on them? You’re an advocate? Do you even know who you’re contacting? Who is this Red Jenny you’re talking to anyway?”

“If I told you, are you going to break down her door and arrest her?” She shot back angrily.

Bull sighed. “Listen, I’m not arguing about this; I’m not trying to be your enemy. In fact, I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I used to be a member of the Ben-Hassarath.”

“Wait - you were in the Qunari Secret Service?”

“Yep. Served ten years in Seheron.”

“So then, why are you telling me this?” She didn’t want to seem rude, but it was completely surprising as to why he just came out and willingly admitted to being a part of a huge spy network for the Qunari.

“I’m no longer a member.” He told her, as if anticipating her thoughts.

“What happened?” She asked.

“Well, I met a mob boss in Seheron who poisoned half my crew, and a few of the local children. I got mad and went after him and his men. He was part of a large crew of Tal-Vashoth troops. I raided their hideout, avenged my friends and men, and was reassigned. Now I guess I’m Tal-Vashoth myself.”

“How did you end up becoming the Deputy Chief of Police in Skyhold?”

“I was put in charge of the men under the previous Deputy Chief; I think he name was Fisher. Ah, it doesn’t matter; he couldn’t make it and got the boot soon afterwards. I took over and when Renner got himself in a coma I took over. The boys tried to get me promoted but I could care less. Besides, I don’t think Skyhold would want a Qunari to be their Chief of Police. Being Deputy Chief is fine enough for me. The elves may be a discriminated race in this city, but the Qunari are completely foreign to the people here. You ought to know from hanging out with me the past few days; I get looks wherever I go. Anyway, I’m still in charge until they find a replacement for Renner.”

“Huh,” Nymeria smiled. “It’s just a strange thing to know about you because you’re so lax and carefree. Aren’t those violations to the Qun?”

“It is,” Bull grunted. “But I’ve been away for so long I don’t really care anymore. I still believe in the Qun though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Ties to the Qun are kind of hard to let go.” He told her. “Anyway, all I’m trying to say is to be careful what information you give out to the Red Jenny.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” She rolled her eyes, irritated at the fact that he was determined to act like her guardian and make her feel like an irresponsible child. Nymeria turned back to her book to go over notes.

“What about you?” He asked, trying to start a conversation he had been waiting to have since yesterday.

“What _about_ me?” She asked, brow raised.

Bull figured since he had just opened up to her that she would, in turn, feel a bit obligated to do the same. He wanted to know her a bit better, to crack open her secrets. He had to admit that his curiosity often got the better of him.

“Nothing. Just wondering why you’re so keen on not being a Keeper like Deshanna.” He casually replied.

“Oh right, I forgot you stalked me online.” She glared at him, unimpressed. He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not; he hoped the latter.

“I’m just wondering how much I have to research online before you start talking.” He told her. “I will find out all of this one way or another.”

She sighed. “Fine, fine. I’ll talk. You’ve worn me down.”

“The four words every man wants to hear.” He grinned and she shot him a half-dismissive and half-mischievous look.

“I grew up with my clan, but when I turned fourteen I told Deshanna that I intended to complete a more formal education in Haven. I was a defense attorney, like I said before."  
  
"I thought Firsts were supposed to remain close to learn from their Keepers. Your Keeper let you go?"  
  
"You know a lot about the Dalish. I’m surprised.”

“Krem likes to talk about it a lot, as you know.”

“Well, begrudgingly yes, Deshanna let me go to Haven to study." She looked out the window, her hand under her chin. "But I wasn't always a member of the Lavellan Clan. And I certainly was never planning on being a First."  
  
"Huh. So they lacked a suitable apprentice to become First and you were transferred to them?"  
  
"It was a number of reasons." Her fingers played with the tiny pen in her hands. "My old clan - we were attacked during the beginning of the Elven Rights Movement."  
  
"I see.”

"My clan was scattered after an uprising: The humans came to our suburbs with their picket signs and started shouting obscenities at us. They were throwing rotten fruit and vegetables at us, telling us to go back to the Dales, telling us that we were better off there and that we were impeding on their territory and taking their jobs... it was horrible, but we endured worse. I thought nothing of it at first; these riots happened all the time."

She swallowed before continuing: "Then the fires started and we were locked in our own homes. We were being burned alive. I… I've never been so scared in my life.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Nym.”

“That wasn't even the worst of it. Women were beaten with glass bottles and bats, some were raped and murdered. Many of us died.”

“And that’s the why you have that scar.”

“Yep.”

“So you were a part of the Wycome City fire six years ago.”

“Yeah.” She looked at him, as if gauging him for some sort of reaction. “But you already knew all that, didn’t you? Krem told me you thought I was a part of the fire last night.”

“I had a feeling.” He told her. “But I wasn’t going to ask you about it unless you wanted to talk about it.”

“Then why did you press me to talk today?”

“I just wanted to know you better; I only wanted to know why you hate being a First when it seems like you enjoy taking charge so much. It’s just a bit confusing, you know?”

“Well, I wasn’t supposed to be the First. It was pushed onto me.”

“Oh?”  
  
"During the fire, I managed to break out through the basement," She said. "But I was only one of the nine who survived in my neighborhood. Can you believe it? Of the hundreds of us, only nine survived. When I came crawling out of my home, coughing and barely breathing, I felt someone dragging me away from the burning flames. I was so scared."

“But they saved you.”  
  
“Saved? That’s debatable.” She said bitterly. “I was taken to another house, half-conscious, by people I didn't recognize, and all I overheard were discussions of how much money I was worth."  
  
"You were kidnapped?" He rose a brow, as if skeptical. She didn't blame him.  
  
"In a matter of speaking. But right as they were about to pull all my clothes off, Deshanna saved me." She told him. "I was one of the three people from my neighborhood to make it out of there alive. Deshanna took me to her home and nursed me back to health. And ever since then, I've been a part of their clan, training to become her successor."  
  
"But you don't actually want to be a Keeper." He reminded.  
  
"Well, it's hard to go against someone who saved your life." She shifted uncomfortably. “I owe her my life, and so much more. It doesn’t seem right to go against her when all she’s ever done is look out for me.”

“But if you’re unhappy, why do it?” He asked.

“Because I’m the only one who can.” She replied. “I’m the only one eligible to be a First for our Clan. It’s for my people. I have little choice in the matter, Bull.”

“I think that’s debatable.”

“That’s because you’re not a part of it; you don’t understand.”

“No, I guess I don’t.” He sighed.

He pulled his car into a quiet corner of the street.

The neighborhood they were in was one of the poorer, run-down areas of Skyhold. The streets were covered in trash and the buildings were old and cheap. There was a few homeless citizens on the streets and many scattered off when they saw Bull’s car pull up.

“Maybe not the safest place in the city.” He muttered as he took a look around. “Want to stay in the car?”

“No way, I’m going in there with you.” She told him, opening the door. “I’m not scared. I can take care of myself. I’ll meet you at the door while you find a place to park.”

He was going to argue but decided against it and watched her make her way across the street.

She seemed pretty confident, but that wouldn’t matter against a thug out in the streets with a knife.

He’d have to be on the lookout and find a parking spot, fast.

* * *

  **Slums, Downtown Skyhold City, 2:01pm**

The air was cool in the dark alleyways of Skyhold. Nymeria was glad she had brought along a jacket.

 _What was the address again?_ She looked through the texts on her phone to find her conversation with Sera.

“Well, lookie here…. You must be a Dalish.” A hooded, grimy man crept up behind Nymeria and his hand landed on her shoulder, caressing it gently.

“I am.” She replied coolly, respectfully pulling his hand off her and tucking her phone in her back pocket.

“I'm Denam. I've got to say: you're much prettier than some of the others. You tattoo isn't as loud as the others, if ya know what I mean.”

“Right…” She eyed his cautiously.

“And you're a fine young thing, arent ya? Never seen one as pretty as you. Listen, so how about you and I hop in my car and we take a little ride back to my place, sweetling?”

“No, thanks.” She replied, keeping her cool. This guy gave her the creeps. She started walking the opposite direction but he pulled her back.

“Wait, where are you going, baby?”

“No offense, but I don't think that's any of your business.” Her fists were at the ready. 

“Come on, babe. I thought we could have a good time. I can make you laugh, here watch -”

“Please just leave me alone. I won't ask again.”

“Oh, you're a feisty little thing aren't ya?”

_“Hey, is there a problem here?”_

Bull stepped up behind her, his face frowning and his bulky demeanor suddenly looming over them both. “Is this guy bothering you?” He asked Nymeria.

“I can handle it.” She replied, shrugging Denam off her arm.

“What are you, her bodyguard? I mean, she's are perfectly consenting adult, isn't she? She can decide on her own!” Denam exclaimed, snarling with his yellowed teeth.

“Alright. Come on, buddy. It's time to go.” Bull started escorting Denam off the premises.

“Whatever, you hulking behemoth. I work for the Fereldan Marines! I served 5 years in Rivain!”

“Come on. Take a walk.” Bull motioned for him to leave again.

When he came back, Nymeria was at the entrance to a grimy garage, waiting for the Private Investigator to come down. She had rung the bell several times already.

“I could’ve handled it.” She told him.

“I know.” He told her. “But I wanted to be the knight in shining armor for you.”

“Why are you trying so hard to impress me suddenly?”

He laughed. “Well, you _are_ the pretty lady I’m interested in.”

“Oh?” She rose a brow, batting her eyelashes. “You’re interested in me?”

“Is that not obvious?”

“It is now that you’ve said it.” She told him, smiling.

“All joking aside, we should be careful; this private investigator could be anyone. Let me go in front of you.”

“Oh? You were joking about being interested in me?” She feigned disappointment and he couldn’t help but smirk slightly.

“Anyway, he’s probably not that reputable if he lives in a dump like this.” She looked at their surroundings in disdain. “What’s his name anyway?”

“Blackwall, I think.” He replied, pressing the buzzer again.

 _“Who is this?”_ There was the voice of a older man over the speaker.

“This is Chief of Skyhold Police Iron Bull.” Bull replied. “I have some questions for you. Please open up.”

_“What is this regarding?”_

“Florian Valmont.” Nymeria replied. “He was murdered two days ago. I’m sure you’re heard. Please open up so we can ask some questions.”

There was a pause. _“Fine. I’ll be right down.”_

“This place is frightening. Better wash up after this before going to the Valmont dinner, huh?”

“Good idea.” Nymeria nodded. “Hm. I wonder if we could bring a plus one to their dinner? I think the email stated we could, right?” She asked aloud, thinking maybe Varric would like a front row seat to ask the Valmonts questions or Merrill might be able to negotiate a trade for her museum from the Valmonts.

“I don’t think so. I believe it’s just you and me attending. Why? You have someone in mind? A special someone you’d like to bring?”

“Maybe.” She winked.

“I was unaware you had a special someone.”

“What if I did? Would you be disappointed?”

“Of course,” He didn’t hesitate to be direct. It was almost like playing a game of chicken to see who would make the first move. They were pushing both trying to ‘one up’ the other, though whether this was to gauge interest or for the sake of a challenge was up for debate.

“So _do_ you have a significant other?”

She sighed irritably. “Dear Maker, Bull! If you have to pry, yes. I _had_ a significant other.”

“Oh, you’re not with them anymore?”

“No, he’s... We’re not together anymore.”

There was more to that story, but Bull wasn’t going to pry it out of her. He had done enough of that today.

The door to the garage opened and they were greeted by a older man with a dark beard and rough, long hair.

And he had a pistol in his hand.

_“Name’s Blackwall, private investigator. What do you want from me?”_

 


End file.
